Never
by EKWTSM9
Summary: Partners for less than a year, Mike and Steve are still learning about each other, still discovering just how far one partner will go for the other.
1. Chapter 1

Assistant Inspector Steve Keller glanced up from the Remington as his partner stepped through the door of the glass-walled inner office. His eyes sliding back to the form in the carriage, he started to type a little faster, then grimaced as he struck the wrong key.

"Sorry," he said quickly, "I thought I'd be done by now. Almost finished."

Detective Lieutenant Mike Stone threw both hands up and chuckled. "Hey, I'm in no rush. Take your time." He dropped into one of the guest chairs, leaning it back and putting his right foot on the edge of the desk as he craned his neck and undid his collar button.

With a smile and a chuckle of his own, the young man backspaced and typed over the error several times until he was satisfied the correct letter was legible. "So, what was the meeting all about?"

With a loud sigh, Mike crossed his arms and stared at his protégé's profile. "You ever heard of a place called Colville? It's upstate… near Eureka from what I was told."

"Colville?" Steve asked without taking his attention from the form.

"Yeah."

The younger man shook his head. "Never heard of it. Why?" With a last flourish of snapping keys, he pulled the form out of the Remington and scanned it, checking for mistakes before he turned and handed it to Mike, who had taken his foot off the desk and leaned forward, the front legs of the metal chair reconnecting with the tile floor with a loud thud.

The lieutenant's piercing blue eyes moved back and forth rapidly as he read the report. Steve got to his feet and started to roll his shirtsleeves down, doing up the cuff buttons as he watched and waited.

Eventually Mike nodded and held the form out. "Perfect. Let's turn that in and get out of here. It's been a long day and I don't know about you, but I wanna get outa here. Jeannie's gonna call tonight."

Steve's face exploded into a warm grin. He knew how much Mike was missing his daughter, who had left for her first year of university in Arizona only a month before. In the eleven months that he and the legendary lieutenant had been partners, he had witnessed first hand the close relationship father and daughter shared; it had always left him with a bittersweet melancholia.

Trying to hide an affectionate smile, Steve took the form and circled the desk as Mike stood, turning to the coat rack to pick up his fedora and drop it haphazardly onto his head. As the younger man crossed to his chair, picking up the beige-and-brown-checked sportscoat from the back of the chair as he dropped the report on the blotter, the older man leaned across his desk and opened the top drawer, removing the .38 and snapping it onto the right side of his belt.

"So, what was that about Colville?" Steve asked as he adjusted his cuffs, his partner joining him in the bullpen.

"What?" Mike's mind seemed to be elsewhere. "Oh, yeah, right? Ah, sorry, ah, I need to talk to you about that."

Smiling slightly, Steve watched as the older man tried to pull his attention back to the present. He was getting used to his partner's many moods, most of which, he had learned, were of an optimistic bent. Mike seemed to see the world, and his role in it, with an enthusiastic idealism that was an inspiration. Most of the time he had a slow fuse, but when he exploded, and he did, you almost wished you weren't in the room.

And when it came to his daughter he was the proverbial doting father, and in his eyes she could do no wrong. Since his wife's death two years before, their bond had grown stronger, and now he was trying to come to grips with the realization that his little girl was growing up. When Jeannie had left for Arizona State four weeks ago, Mike had seemed slightly withdrawn at first, but he seemed to be slowly warming to the idea that though his daughter was no longer going to be in his life every day, she was just a phone call away.

"Talk to me about what?" Steve started to walk towards the Homicide office door. Mike followed.

"Ah, it seems they need some help on a case… or at least they think it's a case. They had a young man go missing from the area a couple of weeks ago. No sign of foul play or anything, he just… disappeared."

Steve opened the office door and stepped into the corridor, his partner on his heels.

"It wouldn't have rung any bells except they had another young man disappear from the area about a year ago and a third about 18 months ago. And it's not a big town." Mike was staring at the floor, his hands in his pants pocket as they approached the bank of elevators.

Steve punched the Down button. "What? Do they think they just left town or do they think they were murdered?"

Mike shrugged, still looking down. "Well, from what I was told, two of them came from close families and one of them was engaged to be married, so…? But no bodies have been found and, like I said, there was no sign of foul play. But there's gangs up there, biker gangs, and they've had trouble with transients too, so who knows…" He looked up, eyebrows raised above a slight smile. "Anyway, ah, Rudy asked if you and I were interested in going up there and giving the local sheriff a hand for a couple of days. It seems they don't have much experience with homicides and they're hoping maybe we can at least find out if that's what they're dealing with or not."

"You mean a road trip?" Steve asked with a grin as the chime sounded and the elevator doors opened.

Chuckling, Mike followed the younger man into the car, turning to lean against the back wall. "Not much of a road trip but yeah. It won't be fancy – we'll be staying in a motel and, from what I heard, the town only has one small diner, so it's not going to be The Ritz."

"So you told them we're going? I don't get a say in this?" Steve asked with a slight frown, secretly pleased at this new development but wanting to make his partner squirm a bit.

Mike's smile disappeared and for a second he looked uncomfortable. "I, uh, well, I thought you'd –"

Steve smiled suddenly, chuckling and Mike's eyes narrowed; he knew he'd been had.

"All right, wise guy, you got me. But, yes, I _did_ tell them we were up for it."

The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened. Steve stepped out into the lobby and stopped, turning back towards the car. Mike was still leaning against the far wall, his hands in his pockets, staring at the younger man with a frown. Steve put a hand out to stop the doors from closing again.

"You don't want to go?"

Steve smiled again and sighed. "Of course I want to go. I was just grinding your gears."

With a soft snort and a shake of his head, Mike pushed himself away from the wall and stepped through the doors. "I'm sorry," he said quietly as they started down the corridor toward the exit to the parking lot, "I should have talked to you about it first. I just thought –"

Steve grabbed the older man's arm and pulled him to a stop. With a soft smile and shaking his head slightly he said, "Mike, you don't have to apologize. You're the senior partner, remember? We do what you want us to do. And I'm fine with that… believe me." He squeezed the older man's arm before letting it go.

Mike smiled self-consciously and dropped his head with a slight laugh. As they started down the corridor again he glanced at the young man in step beside him. "I may be the senior member of this team, but it's still a _partner_ ship. You have a say in what we do too."

"I know," Steve said softly then, looking at the older man mischievously from the corner of his eye, he continued, "and when you do something that I don't agree with, I'll let you know, believe me."

Mike's head came up quickly with an affronted frown and there was a definite hitch in his step. Steve kept walking, staring at the tiled floor with a tiny smug smile. After several steps, he heard the older man laugh and he looked over his shoulder to see the broad Mike Stone grin.

They fell into a comfortable silence as they approached the exit.

"So, when do we leave?" Steve pushed the panic bar door open and they stepped out into the brisk evening air.

"Day after tomorrow. They have us for a week but it might be less than that. Depends on what we find, I guess."

"Sounds good to me," Steve chuckled, fishing the car keys out of his coat pocket as they reached the tan Galaxie. As he opened the driver's side door, he looked over the roof and grinned. "Let's get you home for that phone call."


	2. Chapter 2

"Five'll get ya ten the sheriff's department is on Main Street… or First Street… or whatever they call their main street in Colville, and it'll have one big room and a small office for the sheriff… two cells, maybe three… let's see, uh… two deputies – one nearing retirement and one of them so young he's barely shaving…"

Mike was slouched in the passenger seat, head back and the fedora tilted forward over his closed eyes; his hands, fingers laced and thumbs steepled, lay across his stomach. Behind the dark glasses, Steve glanced across the front seat and grinned.

"The sheriff, well, he'll be an ex-big city cop. We'd've heard already if he was ex-SFPD so I'm thinking, oh, maybe L.A. but more probably Seattle or Portland. Did his twenty years… maybe twenty-five… pulled the pin and retired to a small town, probably his wife's hometown, but he got bored and when elections came up for a new sheriff in Colville, he threw his hat into the ring and – ta-da – he won." Mike used his right index finger to lift the front of his hat and his eyes slid towards his partner. "What'd'ya think?"

Steve chuckled, shaking his head. "I think you've been giving this way, way too much thought."

Mike laughed, letting the hat flop back down over his eyes and settling back in the seat.

The trip to Colville was expected to take a little less than six hours so, wanting to avoid San Francisco traffic and in no particular hurry, Steve picked Mike up at his house just after 10 and they hit the road, stopping at a restaurant just outside Ukiah for lunch.

Mike felt the car slow down and he raised his chin so he could see out from under the brim of his hat. The car turned off the 101 onto a two-lane blacktop.

"The sign says 15 miles to Colville," Steve told him.

"Good," the older man growled, sitting up and tilting his hat back. He looked out the side window. "Sure is pretty country up here. I've gone fishing around Eureka but never went inland before. You?"

"Naw, I stuck around Modesto when I was a kid and when I did hit the road with friends, if it wasn't to go back east for those civil rights marches I told you about, it was to Vegas, or Tahoe for skiing."

"Snow or water?"

"Both," Steve laughed and Mike joined him.

Finally a sign came into view, a large wooden creation that proudly announced all the civic organizations that had branches in Colville – Knights of Columbus, Odd Fellows, 4-H, Kiwanis, each of them now with a black X through their logos – and the population: the white number 1,650 had a black line painted through it and 638 was scrawled underneath.

The two detectives looked at each other silently; Mike sighed heavily and Steve tilted his head and shrugged. "Things don't look too promising in Colville," the younger man said softly.

"No, they sure don't, do they?" Mike asked rhetorically. "There's gotta be a story behind that." He was silent for a few seconds. "I, ah, I want to… modify my predictions – one deputy. The younger one. I bet they made the older one retire."

Steve's chuckle was dry as they drove slowly up the pothole-filled street into the center of town. More than half of the clapboard shops were shuttered and empty and only a few older people could be seen ambling along the crumbling sidewalks.

Mike raised a hand and pointed up the street to the left. "There, that red brick building up there? Bet that's the Sheriff's Department."

Steve glanced over and laughed softly, not at all surprised to see the large worn yellow and blue wooden sign reading Colville Police Department on the green lawn near the sidewalk as they got closer. With a pleased chuckle and smug grin, Mike stared at his partners profile as the younger man slid the car to the curb across the road.

They both glanced up and down the almost deserted street as they got out and crossed to the double wood-and-glass doors. Steve pulled one of the doors open and stepped back to let Mike enter first. There was one large room in front of them, behind a high wooden counter. Three wooden desks could be seen, two of them bare and none of them manned at the moment, and beyond them a glass-walled inner office with 'Sheriff John Manley' stenciled on the door.

"Can I help you?" came a pleasant female voice from somewhere to their right and a middle-aged grey-haired woman with glasses on a chain around her neck came into view from an unseen room. She approached the far side of the tall counter that separated the entranceway from the office and smiled broadly.

Flashing his most charming smile, Mike slipped the star and I.D. out of his pants pocket and flipped it open. "Ah, yes, I'm Lieutenant Stone and this is Inspector Keller," he cocked his head slightly in Steve's direction; the younger man smiled and nodded, "from the San Francisco Police Department. We're here to see Sheriff Manley."

Her grin grew even wider. "Oh yes, we've been expecting you," she chuckled warmly, then her smile wavered slightly, "but I'm afraid the Sheriff was called out unexpectedly. He's going to be tied up for a little bit – a domestic disturbance call," she leaned forward, glancing around almost furtively and lowering her voice. "We get a lot of them, I'm afraid." She stood straight again and her volume returned to normal; Mike nodded gravely as Steve smiled in commiseration. "If you gentlemen want, you can check into the motel and then come on back. The Sheriff should be here by then."

Mike glanced at Steve and nodded. "You know, that sounds like a great idea. Could you tell us where the motel is?"

"Why of course, Lieutenant. It's just straight down Main Street here," she pointed left, the direction their car was already pointing, "about, oh, a quarter mile. You really can't miss it, it's the only motel in town." She shrugged almost sadly.

"Thank you. And it's Mike, not Lieutenant, okay?"

She flustered slightly, one hand going to her heart. "Oh, all right… Mike." She almost giggled. "And you can call me Carole."

"Carole it is," Mike said with a grin and a nod.

"And I'm Steve," the younger detective said warmly with a heart-stopping smile and Carole flustered again.

"All right… Steve," she said quietly, biting her lower lip.

Glancing at his partner with a long-suffering smile and shake of his head, Mike cleared his throat. "We'll, ah, we'll head over to the motel and then come right back."

"Okay," Carole said, not taking her eyes from Steve, "and I'll, ah… I'll tell the Sheriff you're here if he gets back before you do," she finished, her gaze finally returning to the senior partner.

As they got back into the Galaxie, Mike looked across the front seat and chuckled softly. "I think I'm gonna have to keep an eye on you. Maybe Carole is the reason all those young men disappeared. What do you think?"

With a smirk and a heavy sigh, Steve managed to roll his eyes and shake his head as he turned the key, the engine roared to life and he pulled the sedan out onto the street. "Har-de-har-har. Alright, Nostradamus, what do you think the name of the motel is?"

Chuckling, Mike tilted his head up and froze momentarily, as if he was trying to visualize the answer. "Let's see, um… Starlight?"

The once-fancy neon and metal sign of the motel came into view, the VACANCY notification, illuminated in red, flashing on and off with an irritating inconsistency. The swirling cursive letters spelled out 'Starlite'. Mike started to chuckle and Steve shot a surprised and annoyed glare across the front seat.

As the Galaxie turned into the almost empty parking lot and slid to a stop in front of the office, Mike's soft chuckle turned into a full-throated laugh. "Okay, I confess, I knew the name before we left. It's in my notes."

Staring at his smug partner, Steve turned the car off then slapped the older man on the arm before they both got out and entered the office, Mike continuing to chuckle.

# # # # #

A black-and-white station wagon with a Colville Police Department seal on the front door was sitting in the small parking lot adjacent to the red brick building when they returned a little less than an hour later. Steve slipped the Galaxie into the space beside it.

Mike gave the station wagon a once over as he got out and headed towards the front doors. "That's seen better days," he said softly, nodding subtly towards it as Steve joined him and they entered the building.

Carole was standing behind the counter and her face lit up when she saw them approach. "Well, hello again," she gushed, her eyes and beaming face sliding from Mike to Steve as she tried to control an embarrassed giggle.

Mike glanced over his shoulder at his uncomfortable partner and dropped his head, trying to hide his bemused smile. He cleared his throat pointedly before looking up. "I see the Sheriff is back…?"

Carole tore her eyes from the handsome young cop. "Oh yes, he's in his office –"

"Lieutenant Stone?" A deep masculine voice filled the room and the two San Francisco detectives looked up as a tall, thickset, dark-haired middle-aged man in a brown and black uniform strode rapidly across the office towards them. Carole took a few steps back as the Sheriff approached the counter, his right hand outstretched.

"Yes," Mike answered, holding out his own right hand, which the Sheriff grabbed and pumped.

""John Manley. Boy, am I happy to see you fellas."

Grinning, Mike shook the proffered hand warmly, nodding towards the young man at his side. "Good to meet you, Sheriff. This is my partner, Inspector Keller."

"John, please call me John," Manley said with a smile as he released Mike's hand and turned to Steve. "Welcome to Colville, Inspector."

"Thank you. And it's Steve," he said as he shook the Sheriff's hand, his own almost disappearing in the large mitt of the man who almost made Mike look small.

Manley nodded. "Steve… thank you."

With a chuckle, Mike pointed at himself. "And Mike, okay?"

Manley released Steve's hand and laughed. "You got it." He lifted the partition on the counter and motioned with his head for the two detectives to join him.

As Manley led them towards the inner office, Mike asked casually with a backward glance at his partner, "So, John, have you been the Sheriff here for long?"

"Oh, just a little over two years. I was a detective up in Seattle for twenty and, after I put in for retirement, my wife and I decided to settle down here. I thought it was going to be a nice and easy retirement job." He stood just outside the office door and ushered his guests ahead of him into the small room. "Wow, was I wrong about that!" he grumbled good-naturedly as he closed the door and circled the desk to sit in the padded armchair.

As Mike began to sit in one of the wooden guest chairs, he glanced at his partner, trying to mask his self-satisfied smile by biting his lips and lowering his head. Steve stared at the top of the fedora, shaking his head and subtly clearing his throat.

Mike took his hat off and held it in his lap as his laughing eyes slid from his partner to the Sheriff, who had moved a file from a corner of his desk and dropped it closer to the two detectives. "So, I hear you have a problem?" he said amiably.

Manley sighed. "Well, that's what I hope you're here to tell us. I spent my entire career in Robbery, never worked a Homicide. So it's not my specialty. And in the two years I've been wearing this badge, we haven't had a homicide here… not one."

His eyes shifted from the senior partner to the junior, eyebrows raised.

Steve reached for the file. "That's an impressive record," he acknowledged with a nod, flipping the file open.

"Yeah," Manley agreed almost sadly. "And I'm hoping you gentleman can tell me if our record remains intact or not."


	3. Chapter 3

"So, ah, what do you recommend?" Mike asked, staring at the laminated menu, a good number of the dishes obscured by black marker ink. He looked at Manley overtop of his reading glasses.

The Colville sheriff, sitting opposite the San Francisco Homicide lieutenant at the small square table, snorted mirthlessly and shook his head. "I'm tempted to say nothing but that wouldn't be fair."

Frowning in alarm, Steve's eyes slid from Manley to his partner and back. "You're kidding, right?" he asked softly, glancing around the small diner to see if the lone waitress was within earshot.

Manley dropped his menu on the table and leaned back. "This used to be a really nice place until the mill closed a year or so back. That's when the whole town went to hell." He gestured towards the menu. "The BLT's still pretty good here – it's hard to really screw up a BLT. The coffee's pretty decent too."

With a curt nod, Mike tossed his menu on top of Manley's and took his glasses off, folding them and putting them into his inside jacket pocket. "Sounds good to me."

With a slight smile, Steve nodded. "Me too."

From the corner of his eye, Manley saw the waitress approach and he picked up the three menus. "BLT's and coffees all around, Doris."

"You got it, Sheriff," the older woman nodded with a smile as she slipped her order pad into her apron and stuck the stubby pencil behind her ear. Smiling around the table, she took the menus and headed towards the kitchen.

"The mill closed?" Steve prompted, his eyes settling on Manley again.

With a sad nod and tilt of his head, the Sheriff inhaled deeply. "Yeah, it was in its death throes when my wife and I moved here about three years ago – the lumber company was going under, but everyone was hoping some… I don't know, some corporate knight in shining armor was gonna show up and buy the company and rescue them… But it never happened. So most of the jobs dried up and people moved out of town and we went from a bustling little metropolis to what you see now. The precursor of a ghost town."

"I noticed a lot of abandoned houses on the outskirts. Was this a company town?"

Manley nodded. "Yep, the lumber company owned everything – the houses, the stores, even the utility companies. A real throwback."

"I didn't think company towns existed anymore," Mike offered. "I remember hearing about them when I was a kid… but I thought they disappeared during the depression."

"Most of them did but there are still some around, from what I've heard. Colville was the last in this part of the country, I'm pretty sure about that. But I bet there's probably some of them still going in other states, like Kentucky and West Virginia… you know, in mining areas."

He paused and looked up as the waitress approached with a tray and set coffee cups on the table in front of them. When she disappeared again, Mike leaned forward to pour a little milk into his cup. "So, those files we looked at today… were all those families employed by the lumber company?"

Manley nodded sadly as he stirred sugar into his cup. "Danny Cutler's dad was one of the foremen. Stuart Sullivan's mom worked in payroll. His dad is disabled; he was a logger. He was badly injured in an accident with a split tree about twenty years ago. Three other men were killed in that same accident, I heard. And Craig Steen's dad worked in the mill." He frowned and stopped stirring the coffee. "What? Do you think their disappearances has something to do with the company… or the mill?"

Mike shook his head and smiled slightly. "No, no, no… as of right now, I don't think anything. It's just another piece of the puzzle, you know. Do _you_ have any theories?"

Manley glanced at Steve then looked down at the table before raising his eyes to Mike again. "Well, officially I have no clue, but part of me thinks it has something to do with drugs. There's a lot of dealing going on around here. When jobs dry up and people lose hope, a lot of them turn to… well, self-medication, I guess you call it. And we don't have the resources or the manpower to take it on. There's only me and Ryan and we have our hands full with domestics…"

At the mention of Deputy Ryan Hathaway's name, Steve's eyes slid towards his partner, who was already staring at him in bemusement. It turned out that Colville's sole deputy was a fresh-faced, rosy-cheeked redhead who didn't look a day over twelve. Trying to mask his smirk, Steve shook his head slightly with a soft clearing of his throat before turning back to Manley, who looked from one partner to the other quizzically but wisely chose to say nothing.

"So what kind of drugs are we talking about here?" the inspector asked, doing his best to ignore Mike's eyes burning an 'I-told-you-so' hole in the side of his head.

"Well, LSD and hashish continue to be popular but lately we've seen an increase in the use of heroin. There's been several near fatal overdoses in the past three months in the county and six weeks ago a 30-year-old biker died with the needle still in his arm over in Crocker."

"Crocker? Where's that?" Mike asked, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the table.

"About 30 miles northeast of here. They still have a mill in the vicinity so they're doing a lot better, economically, than we are. But it's also the, ah, the hub I guess you could call it, for one of the biker gangs that seem to gravitate to this part of the state."

"You think the gangs are drug running?" Steve asked, glancing at his partner with a furrowed brow.

Manley glanced from Steve to Mike and back again. "I don't think it, I know it… but I can't prove it. And it's not my jurisdiction."

"Who's the sheriff up there?" Mike had leaned a little closer and dropped the timbre of his voice. Steve knew him well enough now to know this was a sign that his interest had been piqued.

"Barry Lassiter. He's been sheriff there for over twenty years. I've had a lot of… crossover with him and his deputies in the past couple of years, and as far as I can tell, he's a square shooter. But, ah…" He paused and sighed heavily, his eyes dropping momentarily to the table. "But I also think he turns a blind eye to what goes on in his town… As far as I can tell, he leaves the gangs alone so they just go about their business without any threat of repercussion over their heads."

Steve glanced at Mike before asking almost hesitantly, "So, ah, so do you think there's some reason for that…? I mean, do you think Sheriff Lassiter is doing this deliberately?"

When Mike continued to stare, unblinking, at Manley, Steve knew he hadn't overstepped his bounds, that he had put into words the question that Mike was going to ask himself.

Manley looked uneasily from one detective to the other, finally allowing his haunted eyes to settle on Steve. "What I'm saying is… I think there might be more behind his… his reluctance to deal with the heroin problem than just lack of manpower and lack of prosecutable evidence."

Very slowly Mike sat back, allowing his hands to drop into his lap but not taking his piercing blue-eyed stare from the troubled sheriff. The waitress approached the table again, three plates balanced on her arms. As the three men sat back slightly, she set the BLT's down in front of her customers. Manley and Steve watched as she quietly and efficiently went about her business; Mike's eyes never left Manley.

Alone once more, Mike leaned forward slightly. "Is that your way of telling us to take a close look at Sheriff Lassiter and the good people of Crocker?"

Several long seconds ticked by before Manley smiled slightly, raising his head to meet the lieutenant's eyes evenly. "I seriously think that's something you should consider." He took the toothpick out of one half of his sandwich, picked it up and took a bite.

Mike stared at him, unmoving, for several long seconds then smiled as he reached for his sandwich.

"I didn't see anything in those files today that said any of those three guys were into drugs, did you?" Steve asked before taking a bite of his own BLT. He nodded to Manley in appreciation of the taste before turning his attention back to his partner.

Chewing, Mike shook his head. "No, I didn't," he said after swallowing, "but then again, they were shy quite a few details I would've like to have seen."

Manley shrugged. "Sorry, fellas, but like I said, there's only Ryan and me, and we really didn't think we had anything at all here until Craig Steen disappeared a couple of weeks ago and I remembered about the other two."

Mike had held up his hand. "I wasn't being judgmental, John, I know how understaffed you are. It was just an observation. But believe me, Steve and I are going to be picking your brain for everything you know and for things you don't even know you know. I hope you don't mind."

"Are you kidding?" Manley replied with a short, almost mirthless laugh. "If we can find those boys alive, or if we find out they just left town and didn't tell their families… or, god forbid, we end up finding their bodies, I just want to put paid to it all."

Taking another bite of his sandwich, Mike nodded in agreement.

"Or," Steve offered almost lightly, "maybe none of these disappearances are related and it's all just one big coincidence." He kept his eyes on his plate but peripherally he could see his partner freeze briefly then turn slowly towards him. He masked his smile by deliberately picking up the second half of his BLT, taking out the toothpick and dropping it almost theatrically on the plate before taking a large bite.

Coffee cup to his lips, Manley's eyes were snapping back and forth between the partners once again, still not sure what was going on but absolutely sure that something was silently passing between them. He smiled to himself; he had enjoyed two very close partnerships during his own career, and he recognized the signs.

Clearing his throat a little louder than necessary and slowly tearing his eyes from his smiling partner's down-turned head, Mike looked at Manley. "So, John, if it's okay with you, Steve and I'll start interviewing family and friends of the three young men and see if there's anything that connects them… or maybe if they were into the drug scene or maybe even one of the gangs. How does that sound?"

Swallowing a large gulp of coffee, Manley nodded as he set the cup down. "Don't think you have to run everything past me, Mike. As far as I'm concerned, this one's all yours right now. You guys just do what you have to do and let me know what you think when you're done. Okay?"

Mike grinned, picking up the second half of his sandwich and nodding. "Thanks," he said, accentuating the word by slightly pointing at the sheriff with the BLT. He looked at his partner. "Well, buddy boy, we have our work cut out for us tonight. I want to go over those files again with a fine-toothed comb. I want to make sure we're fully prepared tomorrow." He looked back at Manley. "Do you have a map or something we can use to find all the addresses?"

Manley nodded, pausing to swallow before he answered. "Carole'll have a package waiting for you tomorrow morning so just stop by the office before you hit the road."

Grinning, Mike sat back and looked at the younger man again, a twinkle in his eyes. "That's great. Steve'll pop in and pick it up." He turned to Manley. "Carole was very impressed by him," he offered with barely suppressed amusement.

Steve dropped his head with a heavy sigh as both older men erupted in laughter that filled the small diner.


	4. Chapter 4

"Here we are," Betty Cutler announced nervously as she entered the well-kept, modestly decorated living room, putting the large tray down on the cleared off coffee table. "What would you like in your coffees?" There was a nervous edge to her voice as she reached for the milk jug.

With a warm smile, Mike slid himself to the edge of the large blue velvet sofa and leaned over the coffee table. "Oh, that's alright, Mrs. Cutler, we can help ourselves, can't we, Steve?" He included his young partner with a slight turn of his head; the inspector nodded his concurrence, punctuated with a genial smile and nod. "Please, sit down," Mike continued, gesturing at the overstuffed armchair nearby.

Wiping her hands on her apron, the thin older woman with the wispy grey hair nodded hesitantly and sat. As the two detectives set about preparing their coffees, Mike said softly, "So, like I said before, Mrs. Cutler, we'd just like to ask you a few questions about your son Danny, if that's all right."

Mrs. Cutler swallowed heavily and nodded. "I don't know what I can tell you, Lieutenant. Danny wasn't living here when he disappeared… he'd moved out about ten months before and he didn't come around a lot…" She looked down at her clasped hands on her lap and bit her lower lip then raised her eyes again and smiled sadly. "He and his daddy didn't get along too good. After the mill closed, Jack, my husband… well, he didn't take it so good. He'd been a foreman at the mill for over ten years. He worked his way up from a sawdust sweeper when he was just a boy; he was good at what he did. And when the mill closed down, all of a sudden he was just a middle-aged man without a job."

Steve, who had Danny Cutler's meager file open on his lap and his notebook balanced on his knee, was staring at her faraway expression, his pen frozen in mid-air. Mike had stopped stirring his coffee and was watching her expressionlessly.

Mrs. Cutler blinked several times and covered her unease with a soft, mirthless chuckle. "He, ah, he took his anger and his resentment out on Danny, I'm afraid. And Danny, bless his heart, he took it for awhile, he really did. He loved his daddy and he tried to understand, but Jack… well, Jack couldn't see that. All he could see was a son who wanted to go to a big university in the city somewhere and get away from Colville."

"Did Jack hit him?" Mike asked softly.

She blinked quickly several times before she met his soft and understanding eyes. She nodded. "Danny didn't fight back at first… he couldn't… it was his Daddy… But after awhile it became too much and he had to protect himself." She dropped her head and sighed then took a deep breath and looked up again. "The day Danny fought back, the day he dropped his father to the ground… that was the day Danny disappeared…" Tears began to roll silently down her cheeks. "Jack died six months ago… his car went off the road and into a tree… The police told me it was an accident… he'd been drinking… but I don't think it was an accident…"

Steve felt his throat tighten; he heard Mike inhale deeply beside him.

"I don't even know if Danny knows about his father…" Her voice was barely above a whisper; a heavy silence settled over them.

"Mrs. Cutler," the older detective began slowly and gently, "do you have any idea where your son could be?" She shook her head sadly. "Have you heard from him at all since he disappeared? A postcard? A letter? A phone call?" She continued to shake her head, not at all embarrassed at the tears that continued to course down her weather-beaten cheeks.

Mike looked down, took a deep breath and met her worried eyes once again. "We're gonna try to find out what happened to Danny, I promise you." He glanced at the file in his partner's lap then reached out to pick up the small colour photo that was paperclipped to the top of the folder. "This is the only picture we have of your son. Do you have one that's more recent and maybe a little less blurry?" he asked with a warm smile.

Mrs. Cutler's wet eyes travelled slowly to the small, creased print in the lieutenant's hand and she nodded. "Oh yes… yes, I do." She got to her feet and crossed to a bookshelf on the far side of the room.

Mike handed the photo back to Steve, their eyes meeting briefly. Mike's slight smile was sad but encouraging. As Mrs. Cutler rummaged through a stack of papers and envelopes on one of the congested shelves, Steve clipped the photo back onto the file and glanced at the list of questions he had written in the notebook. He looked up. "Ah, Mrs. Cutler," he began, then hesitated a beat, "do you have any idea if Danny was… was involved in –"

"If Danny was involved with anyone?"

He felt Mike's hand lightly on his arm and the older man's voice, a little louder than normal, overrode his own. He stopped talking and turned to his partner, who was staring at their hostess.

"Like did he have a girlfriend, do you know? Or some close friends from school that he was still in touch with?" After giving Steve's arm a quick squeeze, Mike picked up his cup and took a sip of the rapidly cooling coffee, keeping his eyes on Mrs. Cutler, who was returning to the armchair with a large brown envelope.

She managed to find a melancholic smile as she sat and opened the envelope, tipping it to allow a jumbled stack of photographic prints to slide out onto her lap. "Oh, Danny didn't have a girlfriend, Lieutenant, at least not that I knew of… but, well, I guess he could have. But he had a lot of friends… he was a very popular young man…" She smiled proudly, the tears starting to fall again. She brushed them away with the back of her hand as she started to sort through the pile of black-and-white and colour photographs on her lap.

Mike looked at his partner, briefly closing his eyes and nodding gently. Steve inhaled deeply and turned back to the grieving woman. "Mrs. Cutler, would you be able to give us a list of Danny's friends?"

She looked up from the photos, her brow furrowed, and stared at the young detective as if not understanding what he had requested. Then she smiled. "Yes, of course… I can do that." Her haunted eyes returned slowly to the photo she held in her right hand. She leaned towards Mike and held the print out. "Here, Lieutenant. This is a good picture of my son."

With a warm, encouraging smile and a nod, Mike took the photo and held it so Steve could see it as well. "That's a great shot, Mrs. Cutler. It's exactly what we need. I'll have Sheriff Manley make some copies and we'll return it to you as soon as we can. Is that alright?"

"Of course."

Both detectives stared at the colour snapshot of the handsome, sandy-haired young man with the deep dimples and sparking blue eyes. "He's a good-looking boy," Mike said quietly, trying to keep the emotion out of his words.

"Yes, he is, isn't he?"

Steve's eyes traveled from his partner's profile to the beaming face of the distressed yet hopeful woman whose eyes remained riveted on the photo in Mike's hand.

# # # # #

Mike slammed the car door and sagged back against the seat, staring dourly out the front window. Steve tossed the file on the seat between them as he fished the key out of his jacket pocket and stuck it in the ignition.

"That was tough," he said quietly.

"Yeah," the older man agreed, continuing to stare through the windshield. "I really hope we don't have to come back here and tell her her son is dead."

"Yeah," Steve replied with a sad shake of his head as he turned the key and the engine roared to life. He shifted into Drive and began to back the tan Galaxie out of the gravel driveway. "Which direction am I supposed to go?"

There was a long moment of silence. Steve knew the older man was thinking about his daughter, about how he'd be coping if Jeannie just disappeared one day.

"Oh, ah," Mike said abruptly, sitting up a little straighter and looking across the seat with an apologetic half-smile, "sorry…" He picked up the map that Manley had highlighted and ran his finger across it till he located their present location. "Ah, go left, back the way we came. I want to drop the list of Danny's friends off at the station so Carole can track down their home addresses for us. And we can ask to have copies of that new picture of Danny made too. Then we'll head over to the Sullivans."

"Sounds good," Steve agreed, swinging the sedan onto the eroding pavement.

They drove in silence for a couple of minutes before Steve shot a quick look across the front seat at his quiet partner. "Hey, uh, I'm sorry about almost blowing it back there. I realize now it was the wrong thing to ask –"

Mike had turned towards him and now he put a hand up and smiled. "Don't worry about it. The question still needs to be asked but I, ah, I don't think she'd know if Danny was taking drugs or not and I didn't want to put that thought in her mind. We'll learn more about that kinda thing from his friends instead of his mom."

"Yeah, you're right, of course." Steve let the silence settle over them again then smiled and raised his voice slightly. "Hey, ah, I was thinking, when we finish up today, why don't we head into Crocker tonight, check out that bar John told us about. I don't know about you, but I think I'll be needing a nice cold beer about then, and he said the food was good and they've got a couple of pool tables." He glanced across the front seat again; Mike was once more staring pensively through the windshield. "What do you say?"

Very slowly an appreciative smile creased the older man's features. "I'd say that sounds like a great idea, buddy boy."

# # # # #

"Thank you," Mike smiled warmly as he accepted the cup and saucer from Mrs. Sullivan, taking a sip of the steaming hot coffee and nodding his appreciation before setting it down on the newspaper-covered table in front of him.

The tall, heavy-set woman with the thinning but still vibrantly stunning red hair nodded at both her guests before sitting back down on the tattered brown faux leather armchair. She glanced nervously at the large but frail-looking older man in the wheelchair beside her.

With a quick glance at his partner, Steve, who had set his own cup and saucer down, his pen poised above the notebook on his knee, cleared his throat quickly and smiled. "Mrs. Sullivan, you were saying that Stuart was out with friends the night he disappeared?"

"Yes… yes, he said he was going out with Johnny and Derek – they went to school together, all the way from kindergarten to high school," she grinned affectionately. "They were like brothers."

"Do you know where they went?"

"Well…" Mrs. Sullivan hesitated, looking down then, with a quick, almost guilty, look at her husband, continued softly, "well, they were underage, the boys, and they were forbidden to go drinking… but I think that's what they did anyway. Eric thinks they had fake I.D.'s." She looked at her husband with a loving smile and he curled his lips and nodded as best he could; it was obvious to the two detectives that Mr. Sullivan had recently suffered a stroke.

Mike cocked his head, smiling with commiseration. "Typical boys, right?" he chuckled and she smiled and nodded at him, grateful for the empathy. "But, I didn't think there was anyplace to go for a drink in Colville anymore. There's just the diner and it's not licensed, am I right?"

Mrs. Sullivan nodded vigorously; her husband's head bobbed up and down slightly as well. "They go into Crocker, or sometimes Burns Falls, but I think they spent more time in Crocker. There's two or three bars there, I think."

Making a note on the pad, Steve's eyes slipped towards his partner; the blue eyes flashed his way briefly. It was the first 'coincidence', and they both knew it.


	5. Chapter 5

"I swear, if I have one more cup of coffee I'm not going to sleep for a week," Mike chuckled dryly as he slammed the door. He loosened his tie and undid the collar button.

Chuckling, Steve started the engine, put the car into Reverse and backed it out of the driveway. "Tell me about it." He straightened the wheels and shifted into Drive, heading down the gravel-topped country road back towards Colville. He glanced across the front seat. "You still up for going into Crocker tonight?"

Mike's eyes snapped in his direction. "You bet I am. If there's three bars in Crocker, I want to check 'em all out. Well, not all in one night, of course. We'll have to make more than one trip. Don't you agree?"

With a grin, Steve nodded.

"But we're gonna have to change, buddy boy. I don't want us going in there looking like cops." Mike frowned. "Do you remember seeing a store in Colville that sells clothes?"

"Clothes? Why?"

"'Cause I only brought one pair of khakis and two other shirts. I want to get at least one more shirt and baseball cap."

Steve chuckled. "Why a baseball cap?"

Ignoring him, Mike continued, "And we're gonna need to strike up a conversation or two with the locals eventually if we want to find out what's going on in Crocker. So you and I are gonna have to come up with a cover story, in case anyone asks. We can't go around introducing ourselves as cops, obviously."

With a facial shrug, Steve nodded. "You've got a point. So, what are we? Father and son come up here for a little… I don't know… fishing or hunting?"

Mike's head snapped in his direction, brows knit. "Father and son -?!" he began sharply then stopped himself, his frown softening as the idea sunk in, then he shook his head. "I was thinking maybe we were representatives of some company that was thinking of relocating to Colville and we're in the area for a few days to check it all out. What do you think?"

Nodding again, Steve smiled. "I think that'll work. What kinda company?"

With a snort, Mike sat back and chuckled. "That's a good question. Can't be lumber – the locals know more about that than we could ever learn in the next couple of hours – or couple of weeks! You have any suggestions?"

Steve thought about it for several seconds. "Well, until we come up with something we're both comfortable with, we could just maybe play it close to vest tonight. If anybody asks, we could just imply that it's in its preliminary stages and all very hush-hush at the moment."

Mike, staring through the windshield, remained silent for a long beat before grinning. "I like that. That'll work." He laughed and looked across at the young man behind the wheel. "Good thinking, buddy boy."

# # # # #

The sun was well down when the tan Galaxie turned into the small, half-filled parking lot across the street from Patches Bar & Grill in Crocker, California. The thumping bass of Creedance Clearwater Revival's "Down on the Corner" pulsed through the windows, doors and walls of the huge wooden roadhouse as the two casually dressed detectives made their way across the almost empty street.

They had decided to park the car in a far dark corner of the lot, away from any source of light in case some curious passerby checked out the unfamiliar car and discovered the police radio under the dash.

The pounding beat got even louder the closer they got to the large wooden-and-glass double doors. As Steve grabbed one of the handles and wrestled the heavy door open, Mike strode past him with a furrowed brow. "I should've brought my ear plugs," he grumbled as they entered the dark wood and brass-filled bar.

They stood side by side just inside the doors and surveyed the large barroom; a series of booths lined the near and side walls; about a dozen small round tables filled the well in front of the long, handsome dark wood bar that extended the entire length of the back wall. Several huge mirrors reflected the wine and liquor bottles of every conceivable size, shape and colour on the glass shelves behind the bar. Six large, Western saloon-style chandeliers hanging from the dark wood-beamed ceiling cast a warm amber light over the entire room.

From what they could tell, the loud music masked the fact that, on this particular night at least, Patches was less than half full.

"I don't see any pool tables, do you?" Mike asked as he continued to scan the room.

"Nope." Steve's eyes finally came to rest on the hostess stand. When no one showed any sign of approaching them, he led the way to a table near the bar. Mike followed. They had just sat down, Mike taking off his brand new black 'Yosemite' baseball cap and tossing it on the table, when a pretty young brunette approached, a couple of large menus in her hand.

"Hi, there!" she greeted enthusiastically, loud enough to be heard over the music as she got to their table, flashing a charming smile in Mike's direction before turning her attention to Steve. If it was at all possible, her smile got even wider as her large brown eyes fixated on the handsome young man before her. "Well, you two are new here. Just passing through?"

Momentarily flummoxed by the question, Steve's eyes darted to his partner, who stared back with a bemused but silent smirk. "Uh, ah, no, we're, ah, we're here for a few days on business."

"Cool!" She put the menus on the table. "Anything I can get you gents to drink while you're looking at the menu?" She had yet to take her eyes from Steve.

"Um, ah, sure…" he said, squirming slightly under her penetrating stare. "I'll, ah… what have you got on tap?"

"The usual, you know – Pabst, Lucky, Schlitz, Miller –"

"I'll have a Miller," Steve interrupted with a smile.

"Okay. And you, sir?" Her question was directed at Mike but her eyes never made it to his face.

Leaning forward slightly, his tongue momentarily in his cheek, he raised his voice. "I'll take a Bud," he smiled and nodded as he picked up one of the menus and opened it with a snap, then held it in front of his face to mask his grin.

"A Bud? You got it," she confirmed, her eyes still on Steve as she turned away with a flip of her long dark hair and started back towards the bar.

Steve looked across the table, finally noticing the obscuring menu, and sighed loudly. He could hear Mike's low chuckle before the menu made it's way back down to the table and the older man's twinkling eyes met his own. He shook his head ruefully as he opened his own menu. "It's gonna be a long week," he mumbled under his breath.

"It's gonna be a lot of fun," Mike continued to chuckle, keeping his eyes down, pretending to study the coloured pictures of their food choices.

After a couple of minutes of silent menu perusal, the waitress reappeared with their beers, setting them on coasters with another wide smile in Steve's direction. Mike was looking around the room. "Um, we were told you had pool tables here but I don't see them…" He said with a smile, fixing her with wide eyes and raised eyebrows.

"We sure do have 'em!" she giggled, glancing in the older man's direction for a split second. She gestured over her right shoulder with her head. "We got a big room in the back there – four tables." She fixed Steve with another stare. "Do you boys want to play? I can bring your dinner to you in there, if you want."

Fervently wanting to put some distance between himself and his overly enthusiastic admirer, Steve glanced at his partner and nodded vigorously. "I'd love that."

Mike managed to suppress his laugh as he reached out and put a hand on the menu. "That sounds good to me too. I'll take the Mexican-style chili and cornbread, please."

The waitress glanced briefly in his direction, bestowing him with a quick but warm smile and a nod. "The chili – you got it! And you, sir?" She moved almost imperceptibly closer to Steve's chair and he leaned back and picked up the menu.

"Um, ah, well, ah, I'll have the Patches Burger with fries. And with everything." He snapped the menu closed and handed it to her.

She took at step back, grinning. "Chili and a house burger. Coming up! You guys go on into the back and make yourselves to home and I'll bring your food in when it's ready, okey-doke?" With one last toss of her hair and a besotted grin, she disappeared towards the kitchen.

# # # # #

"Five ball in the corner pocket," Mike mumbled as he leaned over the table, the blue eyes burning a hole in the solid orange sphere resting on the green felt about eighteen inches from the cue ball and another twelve from the pocket.

Sitting on a stool against the far wall, his cue stick resting between his knees, Steve picked up his beer glass and took another swig, trying not to chuckle. His partner had turned out to be a much better stickman than he had anticipated; he had actually won the first game. Steve wanted revenge.

Mike's shot was short, sharp and true and the orange ball dropped cleanly into the pocket. "Ha ha!" he crowed as he straightened up, shooting a peacock proud grin in his partner's direction as he circled the table to line up the next shot. "You might as well get comfortable there; I'll be awhile."

"Ha ha ha," Steve chuckled dryly, grinning and popping a handful of peanuts into his mouth.

They were the only ones in the poolroom at the moment. Four young men had finished up their game earlier and returned to the restaurant side of Patches; they could be heard, loudly, at the bar. The detectives had chosen the table furthest from the door.

Still laughing, Mike started to lean over the table again when three raucous young people, a woman and two men, stumbled through the entrance and over to the stick rack near the first table. He paused, straightening slightly and waiting for the cacophony to subside slightly before he leaned forward once more and announced, "Thirteen ball in the side."

It was a gimme; the ball was sitting on the lip.

The newcomers had selected their cues and were noisily racking the balls on the table near the door. Obviously irritated, Mike glanced up before taking the shot. Steve glanced from his partner to the others and back, sitting up a little straighter and tensing slightly.

Mike took the shot and the ball dropped gently into the pocket. With another glare at the other table, he straightened, picking up the small blue square that was sitting on the rail and chalking the end of his stick.

The young woman, a lithe brunette, had caught his look and was staring in their direction, her expression unreadable. Her eyes slid from Mike to Steve, still sitting on the stool against the wall, and she froze almost imperceptibly. A smile, somewhat coy but definitely sultry, began to form on her full, red lips.

Mike put the chalk back on the rail, glanced up at his partner and froze. Steve was staring at the brunette and she him. The blue eyes bouncing back and forth, he chuckled lowly as he leaned over the table again.

Steve heard him and turned back to the table almost guiltily, clearing his throat. "Are you gonna shoot or are you gonna laugh?"

Mike's chuckles got louder. "Ay-yai-yai," he shook his head, "I can't take you anywhere, can I?" His laughing eyes snapped to the younger man and he winked.

"One in the side." It was a tough angle and he knew it so he wasn't surprised then the solid yellow ball hit the cushion about an inch shy of the pocket and rolled away.

"Finally!" Steve laughed as he got to his feet, brushing the peanut crumbs off his pants as he moved closer to the table.

Chuckling, Mike circled the table towards the stool. Still standing, he picked up his beer and took a sip, his eyes sliding towards the other table. The brunette was still looking in their direction. He glanced over his shoulder.

Finished studying the table, Steve started to lean towards the cue ball. His eyes slid slowly in the direction of the first table and met those of the brunette.

Mike smiled as he saw his young friend blush then shake his head and refocus on the shot before him. Stifling another chuckle, he turned and sat on the stool, leaning his cue against the wall beside him. But he couldn't suppress his broad grin.

This road trip was turning out to be a real eye-opener.


	6. Chapter 6

"Well, that was a bust," Steve grumbled as he slammed the door, put the key in the ignition and started the engine.

"Why do you think that?" Mike asked genially as he closed the passenger side door and settled in, looking across the front seat with a curious smile.

"Well, other than the fact we didn't see anything remotely illegal - not even an underage drinker let along a drug buy - we didn't get to talk to anybody and the place was a little less than 'jumping'. A hot spot it is not."

"Okay, I'll grant you that. But it's a Tuesday night, right? I have a feeling things'll get a little more… _jumping…_ the closer we get to the weekend." Mike laughed and laid his head back against the seat, closing his eyes. "We'll check out the other two places the next couple of nights and come back here on Friday. I have a gut feeling that this is the place we want, but I also want to check out the others just in case." He sighed heavily. "Besides, we still have a lot of people to interview in the next few days… it's gonna be a busy week."

Steve had turned the sedan onto the road that would take them back into Colville. He glanced at Mike and smiled. "Yeah, it sure is." He heard Mike chuckle.

"You know, if you want, I could just stay in the motel tomorrow night, let you try your luck on your own –"

"Don't you dare!" Steve almost shouted, for a split second horrified that his partner would even consider such a move. From the corner of his eye he saw Mike's head come up and turn towards him with a broad grin.

"What, don't think you could handle all the, ah, the action?" The older man's demented laughter filled the car.

# # # # #

Doris put the three coffees down on the booth table then quietly padded away. As Mike reached for the small white milk jug, he shot a resigned look at his partner who managed to successfully swallow a smile.

As the older man poured a bit of milk into his cup, he looked up and smiled at the young woman with the long straight blond hair sitting on the bench seat opposite them. "So, Katie, you said the night before Craig disappeared the two of you went out for dinner?"

Katherine Porter, whom Steve thought bore a striking resemblance to Judy Collins, nervously fingered the edge of the saucer, looking down. After a beat of silence, Mike glanced at his partner then reached across the table.

"Would you like some milk in your coffee?" he asked softly and her eyes snapped up, startled.

"Oh, uh, ah, yes… yes, please." She nodded enthusiastically with a small perfunctory smile.

Mike started to pour. "Just tell me when."

"Oh, ah, that's enough, thank you."

The lieutenant smiled warmly and encouragingly as he put the jug back on the table. Steve pushed the small wicker basket of sugar cubes closer to her cup. She looked at him and tried to smile then dropped her eyes again.

As she reached for a couple of cubes and dropped them into her cup, Steve prompted gently. "You went out with Craig…?"

"Yes… yes," she said softly as she stirred, "we had just set a date…" She glanced up and met both sets of eyes briefly. "We're going to get married… next June…" Catching her breath, she bit her lower lip and dropped her head again.

There was a slightly awkward pause as both men debated with themselves as to whether they should offer their congratulations. Mike ended the internal debate by leaning forward slightly and asking, "Where did you go? I mean, this doesn't look like the kind of place you would come to celebrate something as important as that, is it?" There was a lightness in his tone that took the melancholic sting out of the words.

She looked at him, a slight, appreciative smile crossing her lips. "No, it isn't," she agreed. "We went into Eureka. They have some really nice restaurants there." Her bottom lip began to quiver. "It was a special night."

"I bet it was," Steve said gently and Mike shot him an approving glance.

"The day Craig disappeared," the older man began, "you didn't see him that day?"

She shook her head, staring at her coffee cup.

"Do you know where he was?"

"He called me in the morning. He said he was going out with some of his friends." Her head came up, a look of almost mild panic in her eyes. "He did that a lot, but I didn't mind. I spent a lot of time with my girlfriends too."

Both men nodded, smiling in understanding.

"Do you know where they went?" Steve took up the questioning.

She shook her head. "They used to go to a lot of different places." She sighed heavily. "You should ask some of his friends; they'll know, I think." Steve reached into his pocket for his notebook; nodding, Mike picked up his coffee to take a sip. "I know they used to go to Patches in Crocker a lot."

Both men froze in mid-motion.

# # # # #

"You gentlemen want a refill?" Doris asked as she approached the table with a full carafe.

"Oh, god no," Mike answered quickly, putting a hand over the top of his almost empty cup. He smiled up at her. "I mean, ah, no, I've had enough, thank you."

Her moist pale eyes slid towards Steve who, trying hard not to smile, did the same, nodding his thanks. She turned to the nervous young man opposite the two big city cops and raised her eyebrows.

Johnny Mitchell looked up from his study of the tabletop and nodded, pushing his empty cup towards her slightly. She filled the cup and turned away. "Thank you," he mumbled to her retreating back. As he spooned some sugar into dark brew, he looked once more at the older detective.

"Do you remember anything that happened that night at Patches?" Mike asked. "Anything at all?"

Mitchell shook his head. "No, sir… it was just another normal night. Like I said, we shot some pool, like we always do, and we had a few beers but none of us was anywhere near to being drunk. I mean, we were celebrating and all that… Craig had asked me to be his best man and the other guys to be his ushers so we were all pretty charged about that, you know…" He ran a hand across one eyebrow as he looked down, his chin trembling. "We, ah… Craig and me, we've known each other since we were in the first grade… he's my best friend…"

Mike's eyes slid towards his partner and he stared at him for a few seconds before asking. "So, ah, did you all go home together that night?"

Mitchell nodded. "Yeah… yeah…" he mumbled, nodding slowly, then his head snapped up. "Oh my god, I just remembered! We didn't… we didn't go home together. I remember now. Chris and Charlie and I got there first; Craig had to work so he drove there by himself. He got there about ten minutes after we did." His brown eyes were snapping back and forth between the two detectives.

"Did you leave at the same time?" Mike asked, almost holding his breath.

Mitchell looked down, as if struggling to remember. "I think so… I know the three of us got back into Chris's car and I saw Craig get into his and the lights come on… But I really don't remember if his car followed us back here or not. I was sitting in the back and I just don't know…"

"So there was a chance that Craig stayed behind at Patches for awhile?" Steve asked carefully, trying not to suggest the answer they wanted to hear.

Mitchell looked up at him and shrugged. "I guess. I mean, I didn't talk to him again… I don't know…"

Steve glanced at Mike as he sat back, and he knew exactly what his partner was thinking.

# # # # #

Mike, already changed into his khakis and light blue work shirt, was sitting on Steve's bed leaning against the headboard, watching the first ever World Series night game.

Steve came out of the bathroom freshly shaved and ready to go, wearing a crisp clean shirt and a mild cologne. He stopped short, looking from Mike to the TV and back again. He grinned. "You sure you want to go? You know, we could always get something from the diner and bring it back here and watch the rest of the game."

Mike tore his eyes from the screen. "No, no, no, we got a job to do. Besides, since the Pirates beat the Giants in the playoffs, I don't really want to root for them. And I _can't_ root for Oakland… so I'm conflicted…" His voice just dripped with self-pity.

Laughing, Steve crossed to the TV and turned it off. "Then let's go." He grabbed his jacket from the chair near the door and shrugged it on as Mike slid off the bed and picked up his cap and windbreaker. As he passed the younger man holding the door open, he paused and looked back at him, sniffing the air.

"We're not going to Patches tonight, remember? I don't think she'll be where we're going," he chuckled evilly as he continued out into the parking lot.

"Ha ha ha," Steve mouthed, swatting at the older man's shoulder as he pulled the door closed and locked it.

# # # # #

It turned out that The Roadhouse was the only other tavern in Crocker; the third, Bill's Bar & Grill, had closed three months earlier. And while they had a good meal, Mike opting for steak and Steve for fish, it was even less popular, it seemed, than Patches.

That, coupled with that fact that The Roadhouse had foosball tables - which Mike refused to play - instead of pool tables, made it an early night. Neither of them minded that, and they were back at the motel by 10.

# # # # #

"I want to find out where Craig Steen's car is," Mike said, staring at Steve's notebook through his black reading glasses as the tan Galaxie crawled along the pot-holed dirt road. The car bounced roughly and Mike's left hand went immediately to the upholstered ceiling to steady himself. He shot a grumpy look across the front seat. "You want to maybe try missing those instead of driving through them."

Looking equally testy, Steve's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Do you want to drive?!" he shot back, instantly regretting his uncensored outburst. He tensed, waiting for the eruption he knew would be coming.

A deafening silence filled the car as the senior detective stared expressionlessly at the younger man's profile. Then a deep chuckle could be heard and Steve allowed himself a brief sideways glance; Mike was staring at him with a broad smile. His brow knit in confusion.

"What got into you this morning?" Mike asked through a laugh.

Shaking his head, Steve managed a slight smile. "I'm sorry, I, ah, I didn't get much sleep last night." He glanced across the seat again. "You're lucky; you have the room on the end of the row. Mine isn't."

Mike's brow furrowed. "What? You mean…?"

Steve nodded, his lips pressed together and his eyebrows raised. "I think they rent the other rooms out by the hour, if you know what I mean. And, ah, and the walls are pretty damn thin."

Mike stared at him. "Oh… I see…" he said quietly. He turned back to look at the notebook again. "Gee, I thought you'd be able to sleep through that…" He began to chuckle again. "Want to borrow my earplugs?"

Steve laughed sardonically, shaking his head. "No, I'll be all right. I'll use Kleenex tonight."

Still chuckling, the older man nodded.

"We're here," Steve announced, looking to his left as the turned the car into the gravel driveway of the well-kept white clapboard bungalow.

Mike took off his glasses and put them in his inside jacket pocket. He flipped the notebook closed and put it on the seat between them. "Okay," he breathed through a long exhale, "let's see if the Steens know where their son's car is."


	7. Chapter 7

"Craig would never go off and not tell us, Lieutenant, I know he wouldn't. I think something bad has happened to my boy." Mrs. Steen, a shredded tissue balled in her hands, was leaning forward on the flowered sofa. Her pre-teen daughter, a tiny dark-haired girl with a pageboy haircut, had her hands wrapped around her mother's arm.

Mike glanced sympathetically at Craig's sister before he reached out and laid a comforting hand on her mother's forearm. "Mrs. Steen, my partner and I will do everything we can to bring your son home, I promise." Beside him, Steve nodded with an encouraging smile.

The distraught woman nodded, trying not to cry.

"Like Mike told you," Steve began softly, "we've talked to Katie and Johnny Mitchell already. Johnny said Craig went to the Patches Bar & Grill in Crocker the night he disappeared. He said that Craig drove his own car there 'cause he'd had to work later than he expected." He paused, as if collecting his thoughts. "Johnny said he wasn't sure if Craig followed them home that night or not. By any chance do you know if Craig drove straight home that night?"

The older woman started to shake her head. "Oh, Craig doesn't live here, Inspector. He has a little place over on Cottonwood. He just moved out about two months ago… He and his daddy haven't been getting along so good since the mill closed…"

Mike nodded sympathetically. It was a story they were hearing a little too often lately.

"But his car isn't there," Mrs. Steen continued. "That's the first thing we checked when we figured out he was missing."

"You didn't know right away?" Mike asked with a frown, glancing briefly at his partner.

"No, you see, sometimes we'd go for a couple of days without talking… you know, Craig had his job at the gas station and he was living on his own. But I'd talked to him the day before because he told me he'd proposed to Katie…" She stopped talking and a warm smile lit her haunted face. "He was so excited… we all were… weren't we?" she asked her daughter, who stared up at her and beamed, nodding her head.

Both detectives smiled as well.

# # # # #

Mike was sitting on the neatly made bed in the tiny bedroom of Craig Steen's apartment. They had borrowed the extra key from his mother and had spent the last half hour going through the missing young man's meagre belongings. They had found nothing that gave them any indication of what had happened to precipitate his disappearance.

Mrs. Steen had been right; the car, a burgundy '66 Toyota Corolla, was nowhere to be seen. And they hadn't found his wallet or keys, which no doubt meant they were still with him… wherever he was.

Mike sighed loudly. "Okay, buddy boy, we're definitely going back to Patches tonight. I want to get to Crocker a little early, look around town a bit and see if we can spot his car anywhere. I doubt very much it's here in Colville; somebody would've spotted it by now, I'm pretty sure of that."

Steve wandered back in from another tour of the small living room and kitchen. "Well, he was neat, for a single guy; I'll give him that." He held out a handful of colour prints. "I found these."

Mike took the photos and sifted through them. They were candid shots of Craig with Katie and Craig with his friends, one of whom he recognized as Johnny Mitchell. A few of them showed the Toyota. Mike put a couple of the prints in his inside jacket pocket and handed the rest back to his partner.

"Come on, let's get out of here," he said with a frustrated sigh as he got to his feet.

# # # # #

"It all keeps coming back to Patches, doesn't it?" Mike mumbled almost to himself as the tan Galaxie drove slowly down a two-lane blacktop bordered by warehouses, small body shops and garages on the outskirts of Crocker. They had already visited the town's two wrecking yards with no results.

Nodding slowly, Steve's eyes were raking both sides of the road as he kept the sedan just at the speed limit; there was no other traffic. "And I don't think any of those kids were into drugs… do you?"

Watching the buildings slide by, Mike shook his head with a facial shrug. "Naw, I don't think so either…" he said slowly and softly. "Then why did they disappear…?"

He heard Steve sigh in agreement. With a sudden burst of energy, Mike shot his left cuff and looked at his watch. "It's almost five. Let's head over to Patches. I want to get there early so we can wrangle our usual table at the back. We can shoot a few games then gravitate to the main room and check things out." He looked at Steve and his brow furrowed. "I don't know about you, but I have a feeling something's going to go down tonight."

Steve looked across the front seat and met the older man's eyes. Neither of them smiled.

Steve turned his attention back to the road. One of the many things he'd learned in the time they'd been partners was that Mike Stone's hunches were rarely wrong. He swallowed heavily, hoping that if something did go down tonight, they would both be laughing about it in the morning.

# # # # #

The solid burgundy ball hit the corner of the pocket and rolled back out to the middle of the table. Mike straightened up and shook his head as he walked back to the stools against the wall. "I'm off my game tonight, buddy boy. You just might clean my clock tonight," he chuckled.

"That works for me," Steve laughed as he got up, reaching for the cue leaning against the wall. "I might get to win my money back."

He approached the table as the older man sat with a heavy sigh; he had a few options. He pointed at the striped blue ball with the end of his stick. "Ten in the corner," he said as he started to lean over the table.

The sound of motorcycles suddenly filled the room. Steve hesitated, raising his stick and standing up; he glanced at his partner. They both froze and listened as the drone of the engines got louder and louder. It seemed to go on forever until slowly the roar began to diminish then died out completely, eclipsed by a cacophony of voices as the bikers stormed through the front doors.

Within seconds, about two dozen black leather-clad, hirsute men and women began streaming into the poolroom. Several of them stopped short when they caught sight of the two strangers at the far table; the volume of their voices dropped and dark looks were passed around.

Mike glanced at his partner. "You get the impression this is their regular pool night?" he asked sotto voce, his expression remaining neutral and non-threatening as scowls were thrown in their direction.

Steve turned back to the table, lining up his shot. "Well then, they're shit outa luck, aren't they?" he whispered with a slight smile. "'Cause we're not done yet, are we?"

Mike chuckled just loud enough for his young partner to hear. "No, we're not."

The bikers moved deeper into the room; every cue from the two large racks near the entrance was now in someone's hand, and the balls of the three remaining tables were being racked, loudly. The room was almost full, and those surrounding the adjacent table began to encroach on the playing field around the table already in use.

Steve, having sunk the ten ball, circled the table to get an angle on his next target: the two ball about six inches from the side pocket. As he began to bend over to take the shot, one of the women walked closely behind him and he had to check his backstroke.

He turned quickly, trying to curb his anger at the deliberate intimidating move, stopping when he met her eyes. Her stride hesitated slightly and she looked him up and down slowly, almost lasciviously. He stared back impassively. She smiled and licked her lips as she returned to the other table; he could feel the angry stares of a number of bikers. He made eye contact with no one as he turned back to the table, his gaze flicking to Mike, who was staring at him intently, as if willing him control. With a slight, acknowledging nod, he leaned over the table and took the shot. The ball hit the corner of the pocket and rolled away.

With a dry chuckle, Steve straightened up again and turned from the table. He took the two steps to the stool beside his partner and sat with a heavy sigh. "Is this what you meant by 'something going down tonight'?" he asked quietly before Mike had time to get to his feet.

The older man snorted and raised his eyebrows. "I'm not sure. Let's see how this plays out." He approached the table, studying the layout, then crossed to the far side. "Six in the side," he said, pointing with the stick, then dropped the ball neatly. He crossed to the end of the table where a number of the bikers were leaning against the wall, beer bottles in hand, staring expressionlessly as they watched every move the cops made.

"Do you mind, fellas?" Mike asked genially as he moved into position to take his shot, gesturing vaguely towards the angle he needed.

With not so subtle grumbles, most of the bikers pushed themselves away from the wall and drifted deeper into the room. Mike bent over the table, stretching to steeple his left hand on the felt and resting the end of the cue between his thumb and forefinger. Satisfied he had the right angle, he brought the stick back, and hit something.

"Hey, watch out!" a loud voice roared angrily and he straightened up quickly and turned. A large, almost bald biker, beer bottle in hand, met him nose to nose. "You better watch yourself, old man!"

Steve sat up straight on the stool, every nerve and muscle suddenly on alert. He stared at the unexpected tableau in front of him. The biker, a couple of inches taller than his lanky partner, was glaring at the older man as if daring him to do something. Steve watched as Mike, meeting the threatening look evenly, finally blinked then swallowed heavily. As he began to take a step back, the biker grinned coldly and snorted. "Coward," he sneered as his eyes slipped into the crowd and a grin began to build.

As Steve relaxed slightly and Mike turned back to the table, another biker, who had been propped against the far wall, stepped closer to the table and body-checked the older man as he leaned over the table. Taken by surprise, Mike staggered, almost losing his balance.

Steve shot to his feet. "Hey!" left his mouth before he could stop it, and suddenly all hell broke loose. He felt a heavy hand on his shoulder and he was pulled to his left, away from the stool.

The biker who had deliberately walked into Mike grabbed the older man by the arm and spun him around, his right fist shooting out and catching the cop on the chin. Mike's head snapped back and he stumbled back against the pool table. He tasted blood as he tried to straighten up, ignoring the pain of his split lip. Rough hands grabbed him and threw him hard against the wall, his head slamming into the wood panelling, stunning him.

Steve was spun around and there was a blur of motion as a fist slammed into his belly. He doubled over, unable to breathe, and both arms wrapped around his stomach as he heaved, trying to get air back into his lungs. He felt his hair being grabbed and his head was jerked back as he was dragged upright, still struggling to inhale. He caught the blurry image of his partner being held against the wall then he was punched in the stomach again and his legs gave out, dropping him to his knees.

Somewhere the sound of glass being broken penetrated Mike's foggy brain as he tried to push himself away from the wall. Strong hands were holding him in place and he couldn't move. There was a flash of movement as a fist shot towards him again, and suddenly his belly exploded as white hot tentacles of pain shot through his midriff.

A coldly grinning face, the face of the bald biker who had blocked his shot, hovered mere inches from his own. The grin grew wider as the broken bottle was twisted and, unable to stop himself, Mike screamed in pain.

Gasping for breath, on his knees, his hands wrapped around his abdomen, Steve looked up to see Mike sink slowly to the floor as the bikers released him and took a step back. Blood was beginning to spread on the front of his shirt and the older man's hands groped blindly towards his stomach as he fell.

Almost overwhelmed with the pain, Mike managed to open his eyes as his head connected with the hardwood. He could see Steve, eyes wide and mouth open, on his knees, staring at him in agony, horror and fear.

Suddenly a large black leather-clad figure stepped behind the young cop and Mike tried to refocus. He caught his breath. "Steve…" he tried to yell as the pool cue flashed through the air, catching his partner on the side of the head. Steve's limp body fell heavily to the dirty plank floor.

"Noooo…" Mike cried through the pain. He was trying to push himself up when the toe of a black boot caught him on the right temple and he crumpled back to the floor.


	8. Chapter 8

The black phone rang once before the receiver was snagged. "Captain Olsen."

"Ah, yes, Captain, ah, this is Sheriff Lassiter from Crocker. We're a town upstate near Eureka… ?" It was more a question than a statement.

"Okay, Sheriff, what can I do for you?"

"Well, ah, Captain, I'm calling from St. Joe's Hospital in Eureka… Ah, we have one of your guys in the hospital here, got into a… a barroom brawl in Crocker last night."

Olsen, who had been making notes in the file he'd been studying when the phone rang, now froze, every cop instinct on full alert. " _One_ of my men…?" he asked carefully, trying not to emphasize the number as suddenly everything he had discussed with Mike in a phone call the day before came flooding back.

"Yeah, ah," Olsen heard what sounded like the sheriff stuffing the receiver into the crook of his neck, "ah, yeah, I got his card here… ah, Lieutenant Michael Stone. He's one of yours, right?"

Olsen could feel the blood pounding in his ears as a thousand questions swamped his brain. "Ah, yes, yes he is. So, ah, what happened exactly, Sheriff?" He needed this information but he was also stalling for time as he tried to recall exactly what his old friend had told him. Something about Lassiter, he remembered…

"Well, we're not sure exactly. When my deputies and me got to the bar after we got the call, the place had emptied out and the lieutenant was lying on the floor of the poolroom."

"How badly is he hurt?" _Where's Steve? Why isn't he making this call?_

"Well, the doctors tell us he was stabbed in the belly with a broken beer bottle and it looks like he was kicked in the head. He's had surgery to stitch him up but he's still unconscious."

Olsen closed his eyes, his hand tightening on the receiver. He knew he had to keep his tone controlled and even, but it was proving to be a struggle.

"Listen, uh,' Lassiter continued, "do you have any idea why your lieutenant would be up in Crocker? I mean, are you guys investigating something up here?"

"Ah, no… no, not that I know of, Sheriff. Look, ah, I'm gonna send some of my men up there. Will you be at the hospital when they get there?"

"No, ah, I gotta get back to Crocker but the Police Chief here in Eureka, he's here at the hospital right now and he can come back when your guys get here. Name's Scott Ryan. Look, ah, if your men wanna come on into Crocker, I'll let 'em know what we've figured out about what happened."

"All right. That sounds like a good idea."

"Look, ah, I'll give you my office number so you and your men can get in touch with me…"

As Olsen copied down the information, his mind was racing. He thanked the sheriff and hung up, then picked up the receiver again and pressed a couple of numbers. "Roy?... Grab Dan and Norm and get up here fast. We've got trouble."

# # # # #

His hands tightly gripping the steering wheel, Sergeant Dan Healey glanced across the front seat at Lieutenant Roy Devitt, who was staring silently through the front window, then met Sergeant Norm Haseejian's worried eyes in the rearview mirror. The loud wail of the siren was making conversation difficult as the moss green sedan shot up the 101 with the red cherry flashing on the roof.

They were making good time but none of them seemed to notice. Their thoughts were with their colleagues, one in the hospital, the other who knew where.

The meeting in Olsen's office had been as brief as possible as the captain filled them in on what little he knew about the goings on upstate. They had been told about the investigation Mike and Steve had been working on – the three missing young men – and about how little they had managed to uncover.

Olsen told them of the suspicion that Patches Bar & Grill in Crocker had seemed to be the common denominator in the disappearances, and that the town's sheriff, Barry Lassiter, might somehow be connected to the drug trade that seemed to be thriving in the small town. There were possibly bikers involved as well, though no one knew how as yet, and they were told of Mike's hunch that none of the missing young men had been involved with drugs in any way.

They had hit the road as soon as possible, all of them going home to briefly pack bags; they didn't know how long they would be upstate but they knew it would be longer than just overnight.

Stopping only briefly for gas and to get some lunch to go, it was barely five hours after they left The City when they spotted the first mileage sign for Eureka. The fact that they were that much closer brought them both relief and trepidation. They had no idea in what condition they would find Mike, and the worry about Steve was compounding.

Reaching the outskirts of the small city, Healey turned off the siren and Devitt opened the window and grabbed the cherry, turning it off and putting it under the seat. He turned to the others. "So we'll go to the hospital first, find out what's going on with Mike, and then I want you two to head into Crocker. I'll stay here with Mike."

Both sergeants nodded.

"Now remember, nobody mentions Steve. If Lassiter _is_ a crooked cop, and he doesn't know about Steve, I want to keep it that way. It might be the leverage we'll need later on."

Continuing to nod, Healey frowned. "Yeah, that's what's been bugging me. Steve had to have been with Mike. I pretty sure Mike wouldn't have gone to a bar in another town on his own. So what the hell is going on?"

Devitt nodded gravely. "Let's hope we find that out sooner than later. So let's play it close to the vest and see what they give us before we offer anything, okay?"

Another round of nods.

"Oh, and I was also thinking about accommodations. I'll stay here in Eureka until Mike is released so I'll find a hotel room or something. And we're not going to remain anonymous, even though that's what Rudy told us Mike and Steve were doing when they went into Crocker; I want us going in there full-blown San Francisco homicide detectives, okay? That might get more lips flapping.

"So you two might as well take over the two motel rooms Mike and Steve were using in Colville. That seems to be the most practical solution. What do you think?"

Nodding, Healey snapped the turn signal on and steered the Galaxie into the large parking lot, stopping at the ticket kiosk. He fished his badge out of his pocket and flashed it at the attendant, who, eyes widening, punched a button to open the boom barrier.

With an almost satisfied snort, he glanced at the others. "Sometimes it pays to be a cop."

# # # # #

The three detectives exited the elevator and strode down the corridor towards the nurses station. Devitt took his star and I.D. out of his pocket as he approached the counter. He smiled grimly. "Hi, ah, I'm Lieutenant Devitt from the San Francisco Police Department." He nodded over his shoulder; his companions had their I.D.'s in hand as well. "Sergeants Healey and Haseejian." They nodded. "We're here to see –"

"Lieutenant Stone, yes," the middle-aged brunette nurse interrupted gently with an encouraging smile as she got to her feet and crossed to the end of the counter. "We've been expecting you gentlemen. Please, follow me."

Pocketing their I.D.'s, the cops fell into step around her. "How is he?" Devitt asked.

She shook her head once with a slight grimace. "I'm afraid he still hasn't regained consciousness, but our neurosurgeon is pretty confident that should happen soon. He's starting to show signs."

They had reached a closed wooden door with the handwritten name STONE on a piece of white paper taped under the room number, and she paused. "You gentlemen can stay for as long as you like. Police Chief Ryan asked me to give him a call when you got here. It won't take him long to come back; he was here most of the morning. And the doctor will be in to see you shortly."

"Thank you very much," Devitt smiled as she pushed the wooden door open and three men stepped past her, almost hesitantly, into the room. "I'll let you know when Chief Ryan gets here," she said quietly as the door closed.

Mike was alone in the room; he was lying flat, an I.V. line in the back of his left hand. Even from the door they could see how swollen and bruised his face was. They approached the bed slowly. Healey caught his breath.

A gauze bandage encircled the lieutenant's head, anchoring the dressing on his right temple. His right eye was swollen shut and turning purple, and a stitch was visible on the right side of his bottom lip, which was bruised and twice the size.

Healey sighed. "Christ, it looks like he went a round with Ali."

Devitt's eyes travelled from his colleague's ravaged face to the light blue sheet over his stomach. He reached out and gently touched Mike's right arm. He felt helpless and angry.

The door behind them opened and all three turned to see a grey-haired older man in a white lab coat enter the room. He smiled pleasantly at the three visitors. "Ah, Lieutenant Devitt?"

"That's me," Devitt answered with a nod, taking a step forward and extending his right hand. Nodding at the others, he made introductions. "Sergeant Haseejian, Sergeant Healey."

"Doctor Cavanagh," the physician said personably as he shook their hands. He took a step closer to the bed. "As bad as it looks, your lieutenant is a very lucky man. He'll have a concussion, of course, which is going to take awhile to heal, but so far there's no sigh of a subdural hematoma… bleeding into the brain… even though he's still unconscious. And his pupils are equal and reactive, which is an excellent sign. The rest is… superficial and will disappear in time."

He glanced at them, smiling encouragingly. "As for his stomach wound, that's a little more serious."

"He was stabbed with a broken beer bottle?" Haseejian asked, trying to keep the disbelief and anger out of his voice.

Cavanagh nodded sadly. "Yeah. We see that a lot more than we should but it's a product of inebriation and short fuses. I guess it could be worse… I guess drunks could be carrying more guns. But it doesn't make it any less… horrific." He glanced at his patient. "From what I could tell, and I've dealt with similar cases, he was initially stabbed and then the bottle was twisted."

The three detectives reacted with subdued horror: Healey inhaled sharply and turned away; Haseejian looked down, his hands balled into fists in his pockets. Devitt looked at his colleague in the hospital bed and set his jaw; he could feel his anger beginning to seethe.

"There were a lot of perforations to his small intestine, and shards of glass imbedded in the wound. We're pretty sure we located all the pieces of glass and we repaired all the holes in his intestine but we're going to have to keep a close eye on him for several days. The chance he could develop peritonitis is… well, let's just say he's not out of the woods yet, not by a long shot."

Cavanagh nodded grimly as he looked at the three concerned detectives then smiled reassuringly. "He's doing as well as can be expected right now, considering the condition he was in when he arrived. And when he wakes up, we'll know even more. I'd tell you not to worry, but I know that's unlikely, so all I can say is stay positive, okay?"

Devitt nodded gratefully. "Thanks, doc." His eyes slid back to the occupant of the bed and he swallowed heavily.

"Look, ah, I've got a surgery coming up, I have to go," Cavanagh announced, crossing back to the door. "I'll drop back in later." With a nod at them all, he pulled the door open and left the room.

The three detectives stood close to the bed, silently staring at their injured colleague. Eventually Devitt cleared his throat. "Listen, ah, you guys better get going. We still gotta find Steve, and I'm beginning to have a very bad feeling about that."

Nodding slowly, almost reluctant to tear their eyes from the bed, Healey and Haseejian moved towards the door. Healey glanced up at Devitt. "You'll let us know…?"

"I'll call Sheriff Manley's office as soon as I know anything. Get the phone number for the nurse's station here in case you need to get in touch with me." He inhaled deeply and glanced back at Mike. "Find Steve, will ya…?"

After the door had closed behind the sergeants, Devitt stood silently for several seconds beside the bed. He knew he had to call Olsen to fill him in on the lieutenant's condition, but he decided to wait for a few minutes; he had to get his simmering fury under control first. He pulled a nearby stool closer to the bed and sat. With a heavy sigh, he picked up Mike's right hand and squeezed.


	9. Chapter 9

Healey looked across the front seat and smiled grimly; he had never seen his partner so quiet. "What are you thinking?"

Haseejian started slightly, glancing over with a dry snort. "I, ah, I was just trying to figure out how in the hell Mike allowed himself to get caught up in a bar brawl, for Christ sake… It doesn't make any sense, does it? I mean, you and I know him, right? He doesn't go off half-cocked. And he certainly wouldn't start a bar brawl."

"No, he wouldn't," Healey agreed with a nod, "but how well do any of us really know Steve, answer me that…?"

The Armenian sergeant's brow furrowed and his tone took on a sharp edge. "What do you mean? You think he's a hothead who got them into this mess?" At Healey's facial shrug, he continued quickly, "Hey, we don't know that. And Steve's missing… I mean, what? He's responsible for starting this… seemingly one-sided brawl and then he just takes off? No, Dan, you're wrong about that –"

"That's not what I'm saying and you know it!" Healey almost shouted, flustered, then stared angrily through the windshield, trying to gather his thoughts and rein in his mounting irritation. He drove in silence for several seconds, feeling his partner's eyes boring into his profile, then blew out an annoyed breath. When he began again his voice had a calmer quality.

"Look, Norm, all I mean is… Steve hasn't been in the squad long enough for any of us to know how he reacts in different situations. I know Mike trusts him with his life, and I appreciate that, but what if the kid did something last night that set this whole thing in motion? That's all I'm saying."

When Healey finished talking, Haseejian turned to look out the side window. He took a deep breath. "I know," he said quietly. "And now he's missing… just like those three kids they were looking for…"

"Yeah…"

The moss green Galaxie drove past the Crocker Town Limits sign.

# # # # #

There was a soft knock on the wooden door and it opened slowly. A tall, thick-set older man in a dark blue police uniform stuck his head in the door and smiled. "Lieutenant Devitt?"

The San Francisco cop stood, turning towards the door. "Yes?"

The grey-haired police chief with the military buzz-cut let the door close behind him as he moved deeper into the hospital room, his right hand extended. "Scott Ryan. I'm the police chief here in Eureka."

"Roy Devitt." They shook hands.

Ryan gestured towards the bed with his chin. "I'm sorry about your colleague. How's he doing?"

Devitt shrugged. "Well, the doctor said he's doing okay, he just hasn't woken up yet."

"Yeah, he was like that when I was here this morning." Ryan glanced around the room. "Listen, uh, I know you want to talk… do you want to do it here or…?"

Devitt looked at the bed again. "Well, he isn't going anywhere and neither am I, if that's okay?"

Ryan smiled. "Of course." He snagged a stool from against the wall and brought it closer to the one Devitt was already using. They both sat, Ryan holding his service hat in his lap.

"So, ah, Lieutenant, what is it you need to know?"

"Well, right now we don't know anything. And if you don't mind me asking, how much do _you_ know about what happened last night and about why the lieutenant here was in this part of the state?"

Ryan's head went back slightly and he smiled warily. "Well, to be perfectly honest, the only thing I know about last night is what Sheriff Lassiter told me… for what it's worth."

Devitt frowned. "What do you mean by that?" he asked hesitantly.

Ryan stared at him silently for several long seconds, as if deciding just how much to impart. "Roy, I've been a police officer here in Eureka for almost thirty years and the chief for the last five. I've met every one of the sheriffs in the towns around here and have a good working relationship with them all. They're all good men, dedicated to keeping their towns safe and protected… except for Lassiter."

The San Francisco detective leaned forward, his forearms on his thighs, and waited for the chief to continue.

"Now I don't know this for a fact, but rumour has it… and it's been a rumour that's been circulating for a long time now… that Lassiter turns a blind eye when it comes to the trafficking, and the use, of drugs in his community…"

"Turns a blind eye? Or actively encourages the practice?"

Ryan smiled slightly. "The jury's still out on that one. Look, Roy, all I'm saying is, take everything that Lassiter tells you with a big grain of salt, okay? If what happened to the lieutenant last night has anything to do with what goes on in Crocker that Lassiter doesn't want you to know about… well, let's just say he could take you down a lot of dead ends before you guys find out what actually happened, if you find out at all."

Devitt sat back, mulling over what he had just been told. His gut instinct was telling him that this man before him was someone he could trust and someone he could confide in. "Chief, there's something about last night that I know you're unaware of… and possibly Lassiter as well. And as of right now, what I'm about to tell you doesn't leave this room. All right?"

Ryan studied the San Francisco cop, his eyes narrowing, then he nodded.

"Good," Devitt said, leaning forward again with a glance towards the bed. "Mike wasn't alone in the bar last night. He was with his partner…"

# # # # #

A Crocker PD blue-and-white sedan was parked in front of Patches Bar & Grill as Healey swung the sedan into the lot and pulled to a stop beside it. Looking around, the two detectives got out of the car and crossed the gravel to the large wooden-and-glass doors.

The place was deserted. A man drying glasses behind the bar looked over as they moved deeper into the room, sizing them up quickly. He cocked his head to the right. "Sheriff Lassiter's back there, in the poolroom."

"Thanks," Healey smiled perfunctorily as they made their way through the empty tables and chairs.

Sheriff Barry Lassiter was sitting on one of the tall stools near the pool table the furthest from the door, a bottle of beer in one hand and a cigar in the other. He looked up and grinned as Healey and Haseejian appeared in the entrance. "Hey!" he bellowed as he slid off the stool and took a step towards them, putting the beer bottle down on the rail of the pool table. "You gotta be the guys from 'Frisco, right?"

Resisting the urge to glance at each other in disdain, the sergeants crossed the room, each shaking the proffered hand and introducing themselves. Lassiter was a lot shorter than expected, a dark-haired spark plug that exuded more than his fair share of energy and enthusiasm. Haseejian hated him already.

"Well, I don't know what to tell you boys," Lassiter began without preamble. "We still haven't been able to figure out what happened last night. The staff here says that the lieutenant was in here playing pool and a bunch of bikers that no one had ever seen before came into the bar out there." He nodded towards the outer room with his chin. "Some of 'em came back here to shoot a few games. Nothing happened, according to the staff… at least nothing they were aware of, and after the bikers finally left, they found the lieutenant lying on the floor here." He gestured towards the hardwood at his feet.

Healey and Haseejian took a step back, realizing they were standing unsettlingly close to the small pool of dried blood on the floor, difficult to discern against the dark stain of the wood. Haseejian threw an angry glare in the Sheriff's direction that he didn't seem to notice.

Healey looked at Lassiter from under a lowered brow. "The lieutenant was here alone?'

Lassister nodded and shrugged. "That's what the staff says. Why? Was he supposed to be with someone?"

"Just asking," Healey tried to sound casual, looking back down at the floor.

Haseejian had drifted away slightly, looking for anything that would tell them that Steve had indeed been in the room the night before. There was nothing. Other than a surprisingly large number of full and hall-full beer bottles and every pool cue, it seemed, scattered around the room - on tables, railings and the floor - nothing else seemed out of place.

The Armenian sergeant stopped suddenly and, hands in his pants pockets, turned back towards the sheriff. "You said the staff here told you the bikers just left… what… after they finished playing pool?"

Lassiter grinned at him. "That's what they said."

"Hunh. If they left _after t_ hey finished, then why do all these tables seem to have games that are still in progress? I mean, if they'd finished playing, why aren't all the balls in the pockets?"

Both detectives were staring at the little sheriff, waiting for his answer. Lassiter blinked a couple of times before almost blurting out, "That's what I was told. Maybe their… boss or their… leader or… whoever, I don't know, decided it was time to go, so they just left. Who knows what they do, right?"

"Right," Healey agreed dryly with a slow nod. "Right."

If Lassiter was afraid he'd been caught in a lie, he didn't show it. "Oh," he said suddenly, as if he'd just thought of it, "we found the lieutenant's car. At least we think it's his car, we don't have the keys so we couldn't get into it. A tan Galaxie? It's got a police radio in it so I'm assuming it's his."

"Where is it?" Haseejian asked coldly, knowing they didn't see the familiar car when they'd pulled into the parking lot.

Lassiter smiled guilelessly at him. "There's another lot across the road. It's parked at the back, away from the light. Maybe he didn't want anybody to see it and realize it was a cop car, I'm guessing." He looked from one detective to the other and shrugged. "You wanna see it?"

# # # # #

They were standing on either side of the unmarked SFPD Ford, shielding their eyes from the sun as they looked through the side windows. There was nothing in the car, other than the radio, to indicate to the untrained eye that it was a cop car. Lassiter's theory seemed to hold water.

Though the beer was gone, the sheriff was still puffing on his stogie. "So what do you want to do with it?"

"I want to get it towed to Colville," Healey said as he straightened up.

"Colville? Why Colville? The assault took place here?" Lassiter sounded more surprised than angry.

Healey turned to him, his entire demeanor now coldly aloof. "Because we say so."

# # # # #

Ryan had left Devitt with a lot of food for thought. It was imperative now, he realized, that they keep Lassiter at arm's length until they were sure, one way or the other, which side he was on. It could prove very tricky.

He had spoken to Olsen, then put in a call to the Colville Police Department. Sheriff John Manley, whom Police Chief Ryan had praised to the skies for his professionalism - sentiments that Mike had echoed in his conversation with Olsen - had been apprised of the events of the previous twenty-hours and had responded with shock and dismay.

And he was extremely worried about the disappearance of the young inspector.

Vowing to Devitt that he would connect up with Healey and Haseejian and offer any assistance he and his deputy could provide, Manley, obviously greatly disturbed, had ended the call promising to keep in regular contact, and with the assurance that Mike and Steve would be foremost in his thoughts and prayers.

Now Devitt was back in the hospital room, continuing his vigil.

He was deep in thought, trying to sort through all the disturbing possibilities that kept crossing his mind about Steve Keller's disappearance, when he heard a soft moan from the bed. He got to his feet, leaning over his injured colleague. "Mike…?" he prompted gently.

The lieutenant moved his head slightly and moaned in pain. His panting breaths were audible through his now open mouth and he groaned again.

Devitt grabbed his right hand and squeezed. "Mike, it's me, it's Roy. You're in the hospital. Take it easy…"

Mike moved his head again, catching his breath. "Steve…" He gasped in pain.

"Easy…"

"Steve… Steve…"


	10. Chapter 10

Holding the injured man's right hand, Devitt groped for the call button and pushed it firmly. "Easy, Mike… don't move…"

His left eye still closed, Mike was shaking his head weakly, mumbling his partner's name.

Not wanting to risk hurting him any further, Devitt raised his voice. "Mike, don't move! Please!" He put his now free hand on the lieutenant's left shoulder to hold him down, trying to avoid getting anywhere near the battered right side of his colleague's head.

He heard the wooden door behind him slam open and suddenly a nurse was at his side. "Relax, Mr. Stone," she said loudly and firmly as she crossed to the other side of the bed, leaning over her patient to put her hands on his shoulders and gently pin him down. "We need you stop moving, Mr. Stone…"

Devitt glanced up at her. "Call him Mike…"

She smiled briefly. "Mike, we need you to settle down and stop moving, okay?"

Under her firm and unyielding hands, the injured man stopped struggling. She glanced up at Devitt again. "The doctor's on his way," she said quietly. Then, louder, "That's it, Mike, just relax… you're going to be fine…"

His chest continuing to heave, Mike breathed, "Steve…"

Not sure how to respond, Devitt closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He opened them again to see the nurse staring at him with a frown.

"His partner," Devitt mouthed and she nodded.

Still breathing heavily, Mike managed to open his good left eye. Straining to focus, he looked at the nurse then turned his head to towards Devitt, who smiled. "Roy…" he whispered weakly.

Nodding, Devitt squeezed his hand. "You're in the hospital in Eureka. You were in a fight. Do you remember?"

His stare briefly wavering, Mike shook his head slightly. "No…" he almost gasped as a look of fear washed over his bruised and swollen face. "Steve… where's Steve…?" His frightened eyes locked onto Devitt's again.

Hesitating a beat, Devitt had just opened his mouth to reply when the door slammed open again and Cavanagh strode into the room. "Great, he's awake," he announced as he stopped beside Devitt and stared down at his now conscious patient with a grin. "Mr. Stone, I'm Doctor Cavanagh. I've been looking after you. How are you feeling?"

Devitt, almost relieved to be temporarily off the hook, released Mike's hand and stepped away from the bed before he had to make up an excuse as to why Steve Keller wasn't at his partner's bedside.

While the medical staff looked after their patient, Devitt took the chance to slip out into the corridor, heading to the nurses station. They had quickly become used to his presence and they realized, after the vague but informative address by the Police Chief hours earlier, that Lieutenant Devitt and his colleagues would be needing their full cooperation in what was assumed to be a major police operation of grave consequence.

"Any messages?" he asked an older nurse he now knew as Pat.

She smiled broadly as she reached for a sheet of yellow paper pinned to the bulletin board. "Just the one."

"Thanks," he smiled back as he took it and leaned against the counter to read. It was from Healey, letting him know they had visited Patches, met Lassister, found Mike and Steve's car and were just about to have it towed to Colville. Smiling grimly to himself, grateful his sergeants seemed to be making progress – though of what kind he wasn't sure – Devitt folded the paper and put it in his jacket pocket.

He wandered into the waiting room and took a seat. He would wait until Cavanagh was finished before going back in to see Mike. He wanted to find out just how much information he could impart to his injured colleague without threatening his recovery; he knew Mike wouldn't take the news of Steve's disappearance very well.

# # # # #

A black-and-white Colville PD station wagon was sitting in the lot next to the red brick Police Department building when the green Galaxie pulled to a stop at the curb. The tow truck hauling the tan sedan slid up alongside them, as Haseejian got out and pointed at the parking lot. The truck driver was expertly backing the tan Galaxie into a spot at the far end of the lot when Sheriff Manley and Deputy Hathaway exited the building to join them.

After introductions were made all around, Haseejian paid the tow truck operator and the four men studied the car. "I guess the keys are, ah… in Steve's pocket somewhere," Healey said softly, clearing his throat. He smiled grimly at the Colville cops. "Mike always lets him drive."

Nodding understandingly, Manley gestured at his deputy with his chin, raising his eyebrows expectantly. The baby-faced officer took an almost shy step forward and held up a long thin piece of metal. "I, ah, I can open it," he said sofly.

Both San Francisco detectives looked at the slim jim in the youngster's hand and smiled. "Be my guest," Haseejian chuckled, extending a flattened palm towards the sedan as if presenting it as a gift.

With a soft laugh, the deputy stepped to driver's door, slipped the metal strip between the window and the rubber seal and within seconds the metallic snap of the lock disengaging could be heard. He removed the slim jim and opened the door with an almost embarrassed smile. "Misspent youth," he said quietly as he backed away and a grinning Healey opened the door all the way, then slid across the front seat to lift the passenger door handle. Haseejian opened the door as Healey straightened up behind the wheel and started to look around.

Haseejian opened the glove box but there was nothing out of the ordinary inside. Healey groped under the driver's seat but came up with nothing.

Manley, watching from the driver's side, leaned in. "I have a guy coming that'll pop the trunk lock. He should be here any second."

"Great, thanks," Haseejian said as he got out and shut the door. With smiling eyes, he turned to Hathaway. "What, you don't do trunks?"

The young deputy smiled and laughed. "No, sir, sorry, just doors."

"Gotcha." Haseejian turned to Manley. "Listen, ah, about the motel –"

Manley cut him off with a smile. "I've already talked to the manager – hell, she's the owner too. She's getting keys ready for us so as soon as we're finished here, we'll head up there." He gestured towards the main street then to the right. "It's just up the road here a bit, won't take us no time at all to get there."

A beaten-up old blue pickup truck turned into the parking lot and slid to a stop beside them. A tall man in his thirties wearing greased-stained coveralls and an equally grimy John Deere ball cap got out of the truck sporting a broad grin and a very long screwdriver. "Hi, John, Ryan." He nodded at the strangers and, without bothering to wait for an introduction, stepped up to the back of the Galaxie and knelt.

"This won't do any damage at all," he said with a chuckle as he inserted the business end of the screwdriver under the lip of the trunk, rooting it around for a couple of seconds before there was a metallic snap and the lid popped open.

"Thanks, Jack," Manley said with a chuckle as the mechanic stood up and started back to his truck.

"I'll add it to your bill, Sheriff," he called over his shoulder with a laugh as he got into the truck and backed out of the parking lot.

Haseejian lifted the lid as Healey stepped to his side. The only things in the large deep trunk outside the norm were two leather-covered stars and I.D.'s, and two holstered .38 Smith & Wesson Police Specials. Haseejian sighed. "Well, we figured we were going to find these here."

Healey snorted mirthlessly. "Yeah. I don't know what else we expected to find, do you?"

Sadly, Haseejian shook his head.

# # # # #

Devitt quietly opened the door and stepped into the silent hospital room. Cavanagh had told him that Mike was doing well, that he had calmed down and was starting to remember snippets of what had occurred the night before. He also said he thought Mike was aware that something had happened to his partner and that he also thought keeping anything from the injured man at this point might do more harm than good

Walking softly, Devitt approached the bed. Mike's left eye was open, and the grey-haired detective circled the bed to make it easier for Mike to see him. He smiled warmly, resting a hand lightly on his colleague's forearm. "How are you feeling?"

There was a fear and worry etched into the injured man's face Devitt had never seen before. "Roy, where's Steve?"

Devitt squeezed his friend's arm a little tighter. "What do you remember?" he asked quietly. Mike's good eye bored into him.

Though still woozy from the blow to the head, and the pain medication, Mike knew this wasn't his friend and colleague standing at his side; this was a working police lieutenant asking an important question. He inhaled deeply, hoping he could keep his voice calm and even.

"I don't remember everything… but we were playing pool… and these bikers came in. There were a lot of them… twenty, thirty… I'm not sure…" He paused and swallowed, trying to lick his dry lips.

"Do you want some water?" Devitt asked, starting to reach for the glass and straw on the bedside table.

"No, I'm okay." Mike tried to shake his head, gasping in pain at the effort. With a low moan, he refocused on his colleague and inhaled carefully. "They just came at us, Roy… honest to god, Steve and I didn't do anything. We're not crazy, we were outnumbered…" He paused, trying to remember details that remained elusive.

"Did they know you were cops?"

Another brief, and careful, shake of the head. "No, we'd put our guns and badges in the trunk. They just seemed to resent us being there…" Mike closed his eye as a wave of pain washed over him and he gasped and stiffened. His right hand drifted towards the sheet over his stomach.

Devitt's hand tightened again. "You okay? You want me to call the doctor?"

"No, Roy, I'm okay… I'm okay…" He lay quietly for several long seconds as Devitt watched, his brows knit in concern.

Finally, with a soft but long exhale, Mike relaxed. He opened his eye but kept his hand over his stomach. "They went after me first… I got punched in the mouth, then they threw me against the wall…" His voice wavered slightly. "That's when I got stabbed…" He closed his eye. "I don't know what they did to Steve, but he was on his knees on the floor… then they hit him with a pool cue…" His voice was so faint Devitt had to lean closer to hear him.

Mike swallowed heavily and opened his eye. "Where is he, Roy?"

# # # # #

Healey opened the motel door, leading Haseejian into the room. Steve's open suitcase was on the luggage rack beside the bureau with the small TV. The bed was half-made; a balled-up tie, an empty bottle of Coke and an ashtray overflowing with sunflower seed shells on the table beside the bed.

Healey crossed to the bureau and opened the top drawer. With a sadly triumphant smile, he took something out of the drawer and turned to his colleague.

Haseejian looked at the two police notebooks in his partner's hand and nodded. "If there's one thing I've learned about working with Mike, he makes you take really detailed notes." He looked up to meet Healey's grim smile of agreement. "Looks like you and I have our work cut out for us tonight."


	11. Chapter 11

Devitt was sitting quietly beside the hospital bed, holding his sleeping colleague's hand. It had been a difficult and draining task, explaining to the distraught, badly injured man that his young partner was missing. Moaning "No, no, no,", shaking his head and, despite almost paralyzing pain, trying to get up, it had taken all of Devitt's physical and emotional strength to eventually get his friend to surrender to the inevitable.

Finally getting Mike to lie back and listen to him, he explained what little they had learned about the night before, about how he had been found unconscious on the floor in Patches poolroom and taken to into Eureka in the back of Sheriff Lassiter's cop car.

He told Mike that Healey and Haseejian were probably now en route Colville, where they were having the tan Galaxie towed, and of the time they had spent in Crocker with Sheriff Lassiter. And he assured the distraught man that everything would be done, using the combined services of the police forces in Colville, Eureka and, hopefully, Crocker, to locate Steve and bring him home.

Mike had become unusually quiet when Devitt had finished, lying very still with his eyes closed, trying to stop his chest from heaving. He laid his left hand over his brow, shielding his eyes, and inhaled sharply. "It's my fault," he said softly.

"What?"

"It's my fault," Mike repeated just as quietly. He took his hand away from his eyes but didn't look at his companion. "I'm the reason we're here… and I'm the reason this has happened."

"What do you mean?"

The haunted blue eye finally turned in Devitt's direction. "I made the decision to come up here and look into this case. He didn't have a choice."

"Of course you made the decision," Devitt protested, "you're the senior partner. It _is_ your decision, as I'm sure you know by now." He tried to finish on a lighter note than how he started, and wasn't sure he'd succeeded. When Mike didn't respond, he continued in a slightly more conciliatory tone. "Mike, you didn't pressure him into anything… you can't possibly believe that. And nobody, not even you, could have predicted that this would happen."

Mike had turned away and Devitt couldn't tell how he was reacting to the words he was hearing. He decided to try another tack. "Look, we're gonna need to lean on you and what you learned the last few days if we're gonna get anywhere quick on this. It might help if you can give us a description of the guys who attacked you last night. Can you do that?"

Mike had closed his eye but Devitt knew he was listening. After several long motionless seconds, opened his eye again and turned his head. The ghost of a very small smile touched his lips and Devitt slumped slightly, not even realizing how tense he had become.

Mike's right hand, which had remained across his stomach, now found its way towards his colleague and Devitt grabbed it and squeezed, smiling encouragingly.

"I can't remember, Roy," Mike said sadly, trying to shake his head, "I know I saw him… but I just can't remember right now… I'm sorry…"

"Hey, you don't have to be sorry… You've taken a hell of a shot, both physically and mentally… it's gonna take awhile, don't worry about it…" He gave Mike's hand another squeeze. "Look, you need to rest. I'm not gonna go anywhere. I'm gonna stay with you all night, okay? That way, if you wake up in the middle of the night and you've thought of something, then you can tell me right away, okay?" He smiled warmly. "Don't worry; we're not going to leave you out of it. I promise."

Mike swallowed heavily. He knew what Devitt was trying to do, and he appreciated it more then he could put into words right now. He tightened his fingers as best he could around his friend's hand. "Thank you…"

Devitt winked.

# # # # #

"Well, we're gonna have to go at this from an angle I'm not going to be too comfortable with, I can tell you that." Healey picked up the glass in front of him and took a sip of the ice cold beer.

"Oh, what angle is that?" Sheriff Manley asked, looking from one SF sergeant to the other.

Healey and Haseejian had spent over an hour going through Steve's notebooks, then had telephoned the sheriff to ask he if was up to meeting them to go over what they had learned. Manley had suggested Colville's one and only diner; they ended up sitting at the same table he'd been at before with Mike and Steve.

Healey blew out a frustrated breath. "Well, we're gonna want to interview everyone we can get our hands on that'll admit to being in Patches last night, and I have a feeling that's gonna be a little more difficult that we hope."

Haseejian chuckled. "You can say that again. We got no jurisdiction up here, and I have a feeling Lassiter's not going to give us carte blanche to start going around heading up our own little investigation. I can't believe that little bastard sat there yesterday, right beside the pool of Mike's blood on the floor, and lied to our faces. Hell, we haven't been here a day yet and I'm already thinking there's more secrets in that little town than there are in Peyton Place."

Manley chuckled as he put his beer glass back on the table. "You're right about that. And I've been thinking about that too. It's gonna be tough – he seems to know everything that's going on in that town, without a doubt. And as far as I know, everybody that works at Patches lives in Crocker. You know, when I first heard the rumours about Lassiter, I have to confess I didn't believe 'em. Then, when we started having trouble with drugs here in Colville – and it was pretty mild to start with, just kids high at school and here in the diner or in the park … but then when the heroin started to show up and we had a couple of near-fatal overdoses, I asked to see him so we could, you know, talk about our mutual problem."

With a tilt of his head and a sigh, he shrugged in disappointment. "Well, let's just say he was a little less than forthcoming. I mean, he didn't come right out and tell me I was exaggerating a minor problem, but that's what I took away from it. It felt at first like he just didn't care, but the more I thought about it, and then when I heard the rumours again from different sources, I began to think that maybe it was more than just turning a blind eye.

"And to be perfectly honest, after what happened to Mike and Steve last night, I think I'm more convinced than ever that there's something really rotten up there in Crocker, and your guys walked right into the middle of it."

Healey turned to Haseejian and raised his eyebrows. The Armenian sergeant looked at Manley and smiled coldly. "That's what we think too. And I also think what we should do tomorrow morning is head into Crocker and ask Lassiter if he'd help us interview the bar employees to try to get a description of the bikers who attacked Mike and Steve. If he lets us, great. But if he wants to conduct the interviews himself, then there's the possibility he wants to control how much we'll uncover."

"And if he won't let us interview them at all?" Healey asked, almost rhetorically.

Haseejian smiled with a mirthless chuckle. "Then we do the only thing we can do - we threaten to call in the Feds."

It was a prospect none of them really wanted to consider, but it might turn out to be their only ace in the hole.

Manley looked from one to the other and nodded. With a grin, he sat back and picked up his beer again.

# # # # #

Devitt was dozing in an overstuffed armchair that Cavanagh had the janitorial staff dig up from another floor and brought to Mike's room. Despite showing signs of anxiety, the injured detective was doing as well as hoped. And having someone he knew in the room with him overnight could only help to keep him calm so his body would begin to recover.

He woke with a start, briefly disoriented, his fingers digging into the arms of the mustard yellow upholstery of the chair. It took a second or two to remember where he was, and why. A soft hiss, like the one that had disturbed his surprisingly restful sleep, reached his ears and his head swiveled towards the bed.

"Roy…?"

He got up quickly and leaned over the bed. "Yeah, Mike, I'm here. Are you okay?"

Mike's damaged right eye was now a deep purple and at least twice the size, but the left was still the familiar striking blue and it stared at him unblinking. "I remember, Roy. The biker that stabbed me.,, I remember what he looked like."

Devitt's worried frown disappeared and he reached toward the bedside table to pick up his notebook and pen. He flipped the book open to a fresh sheet. "Tell me," he said with a smile.

# # # # #

"Knock yourselves out," Lassiter chuckled dryly at the two San Francisco detectives who were standing on the other side of his desk. "I'll get Kathy out there," he gestured towards the outer office with his coffee cup, "to make a list of the people you want to talk to. I mean, we already did, the night it happened and I told you what we found out but, hey, I can understand you guys wanting to hear it for yourselves. Hell, if it was a couple of my guys, I'd wanna do the same."

Haseejian glanced at Healey; he knew what they were both thinking. "Ah, thanks, that'd be great. Do you know what time the staff starts showing up there?"

Lassiter glanced at his watch. "Let's see. Chuck - he manages the place – mosta the time he's the first one there, last to leave. He should be there in about a half hour, I'd think, around 10. He can let you know about the others." He set the cup down with a thud and got to his feet. "Kathy!" he roared as he circled the desk to the door. "I'm gonna need a list of everybody at Patches we interviewed the other night…" he continued loudly as he crossed the large bullpen to the young brunette clerk.

Healey looked at his partner. "Does this feel right to you?" he asked sotto voce.

Haseejian stared at him. "Do you mean his being all cooperative and friendly and all that…?"

"Yeah…"

The Armenian sergeant sucked his teeth. "Feels as genuine to me as a three-dollar-bill."

# # # # #

"So far, so good," Cavanagh said with a smile, nodding to the nurse on the other side of the bed.

Mike, who had kept his eyes closed during the surgeon's examination of his abdominal wound, now opened his one good eye to see the doctor leaning over the bed. "It looks very good. It's still early days, but it looks like we got all the glass shards out of you and all the perforations seem to be healing perfectly."

"When can I get out of here, Doc?" Mike could hear and feel the nurse applying a fresh dressing over the raw wound.

Cavanagh chuckled. "I knew you were going to ask me that. I'm afraid you're going to have to stay with us for at least a week. Wounds like yours are not to be taken lightly, and we want to make sure you're completely on the mend before we let you outa here."

The doctor glanced up at the nurse who, finished her ministrations, nodded. She began to gather up the materials she'd brought in with her, then headed to the door. Cavanagh looked back down at his patient, who had closed his eyes. "We're gonna let you rest for now, but someone will be back in a little while to give you some clear broth for lunch. We're going to get you started eating again, but just clear liquids for the next few days."

Cavanagh waited; when there was no response he gently patted the detective's arm and walked silently to the door. Devitt had told him what was going on, hoping the explanation would help the doctor understand the mood swings that the lieutenant was going through. He looked back and smiled sadly, determined to do whatever was in his power to see that, physically at least, Mike Stone would make a full recovery.


	12. Chapter 12

"That's a relief to hear, Roy, thanks. Yeah, so, ah, we're heading over to the bar in a few minutes, start to interview everyone that was working that night." Healey was in a phone booth down the street from the Crocker Police Department, not wanting his conversation to be overheard by anyone other than his partner.

Paranoia was contagious.

"Great. Listen, I got a description from Mike of the biker that stabbed him." Devitt read him the details and Healey, the phone tucked under his chin, took notes while Haseejian watched, brows raised.

"That's great – we'll ask around, see if anyone knows who he is."

"Yeah, Mike says there was a second guy, the guy that kicked him, but he can't remember anything about him yet."

"That's okay, this is a good start. Listen, ah, we'll call when we get finished at Patches and see if Mike's come up with anything else, okay?"

"Sounds good."

"Okay, thanks, Roy, talk to you later." Healey hung up and looked at his partner. He held up the notebook. "Mike remembered what his attacker looked like."

Haseejian smiled and nodded.

# # # # #

"Yeah, I was here from four until closing – well…" the pretty young brunette giggled, "well, until they found that guy all bleeding and everything in the poolroom. Everybody left then and we were sent home."

She looked from one detective to the other, not at all intimidated, it seemed, by their presence or the questions they were asking.

"So you were here when the man who was stabbed came in?"

"Oh yeah, I saw him come in. He was here once before… Tuesday, I think…" She screwed up her face as she tried to remember.

"Was he alone?"

"Yep," she nodded, "just like Tuesday. He asked for a beer and then he headed into the poolroom and… started to play, I guess. He was in the middle of a game when I brought him his beer and chili the other night."

Haseejian glanced at his partner and leaned forward slightly. "He was alone all night? No one came in to join him?"

She shook her head with a facial shrug. "Nope, nobody. He was all by himself."

"Okay," Healey said softly, making a notation in his book with a vague half-smile and a furrowed brow. "Now, those bikers that came in –?"

"Oh yeah, those guys," she interrupted, rolling her eyes. "What a bunch a jerks."

"You didn't know them? You've never seen any of them before?" Haseejian asked, his eyes never leaving her face.

She shook her head, pursing her lips. "Unh-unh, I've never seen any a them before. They were real jerks, all grabby and stuff, and none of 'em gave me a tip." She sounded genuinely angry.

The partners glanced at each other. "Well, thank you, Joan," Healey smiled, "if we have any more questions, we'll be in touch, okay?"

With a beaming smile and a curt nod, the waitress got up from the booth and headed towards the kitchen. Flipping his notebook shut, Healey looked at Haseejian and sighed. "Well, that's the last of 'em."

The Armenian sergeant nodded. "Yeah… it was like they were all reading from the same script, wasn't it?" he said softly, looking around the room as the staff members they had just interviewed were readying the place for their noon opening.

"You got that right." Healey took a deep breath. "Norm, I'm getting a really weird feeling about all this. I want to talk to Manley again. I have some more questions for him… but I don't know if he's the one with the answers."

# # # # #

The head of the bed had been raised and Mike was sitting up, supported by several thick pillows. A wheeled table had been rolled over the bed and he was taking small spoonsful of a clear broth and sips of clear tea.

The door opened and Devitt came into the room.

"Any news?"

The grey-haired lieutenant shook his head. "Norm and Dan are at Patches interviewing the staff right now, but they don't think they're going to get anywhere. It weird, it's like someone got to them and, if you believe Lassister – and I don't, by the way… and I haven't even met the guy… you were in Patches playing pool all by yourself. Nobody's mentioned Steve at all. And our guys haven't either; they're waiting to see how this all plays out. See if they can find out who's behind it."

Mike had stopped eating and was staring at his colleague with his one good eye. "It's like he disappeared off the face of the earth," he said quietly.

Nodding slowly, Devitt approached the bed and sat on a nearby stool; the armchair, almost too big for the small room, had been pushed into a corner out of the way. "Well, we know he didn't… we'll find him."

"Where? We haven't been able to find the other three."

Devitt cocked his head. "Do you think Steve was snatched by the same… whoever are responsible for the other three?"

Mike stared at him for several seconds then lowered his head. "I don't know… he really doesn't fit the rundown. I mean, the other three were young, good-looking white boys, and Steve _is_ that, there's no doubt about it… but they were nineteen, two the them anyway, and the other one was twenty… he's a bit older than that, he's twenty-seven."

"If that's the only difference, it may be no difference at all, if you know what I mean."

Mike nodded. "I do, but… the other disappearances were months apart. If Steve was taken by the same… person… it's just over two weeks since Craig Steen disappeared. It just seems too soon."

Devitt shrugged. "Maybe it was a matter of circumstance… and opportunity…"

"Yeah…" Mike blinked slowly then stared at his colleague. "God, I wish we'd found out more…"

Devitt smiled encouragingly. "We'll get him back, Mike… Look, ah, you better finish your soup if you want to get better and get outa here, right?"

"Right," Mike agreed, but there was no conviction in his voice or his actions as he picked up the spoon again.

# # # # #

Carole looked up from her desk behind the tall counter. "Oh, I'm sorry, fellas, but the Sheriff just went out on a call. There was a break-in on the other side of town." She had gotten up and crossed towards them; she lowered her voice and glanced around the otherwise empty office before continuing, "We're getting a lot them now because of the drugs… they need the money, I guess…"

Both detectives nodded in understanding. "Ah, do you know when he'll be back?"

"Oh, shouldn't be too long; these things usually don't. Come on in and have a seat while you wait." She opened the bridge flap so they could enter the bullpen.

"Listen, ah," Haseejian asked as they moved deeper into the room, "can we use a couple of phones? We want to set up some interviews?"

"Oh, of course, be my guest," she smiled as she gestured towards the unoccupied desks then returned to her own.

"Thanks." Healey slid his notebook out of his pocket as he sat and flipped it open. Haseejian took Steve's notebooks from his inside pocket and dropped them on a nearby desk then pulled a sheet of paper from his outside jacket pocket, folded it and tore it in half. He handed one piece to Healey.

Picking up the black receiver and tucking it under his chin, Haseejian dialed the first number on his half of the list. He waited while the line connected. "Yes, ah, may I speak to Johnny Mitchell, please?... Yes, I can wait."

He heard Healey. "Hello, yes, I'm looking for Chris Miller?... Thank you…" He met his partner's eyes.

They knew they needed answers, and they needed them quickly.

# # # # #

There was a light knock on the heavy wooden door and Devitt got up from the armchair in the corner and crossed to it quickly. Chief Ryan, his service cap in his hand, was standing on the other side. He beckoned Devitt with his head and, with a quick glance back towards the bed and its sleeping occupant, the San Francisco cop stepped into the corridor and let the door softly close.

"How's he doing?" Ryan asked as they began walking towards the waiting room.

"Good, really good, all things considered. They've even got him started on some clear soup. But he's, ah, he's worried about his partner."

"That's not surprising…" Ryan stopped him before they got to the waiting room. "Look, ah, something's happened that I think you should know about. My boys just came in with a couple of bikers who were run off the road not far from here."

"Run off the road?" Devitt asked quickly, frowning. "What are you talking about?"

"Just like the end of 'Easy Rider', it looks to us. Deliberate. They were sideswiped by a car or a truck and run off the road. One of them hit a tree, the other went into the ditch. The one that hit the tree died in the ambulance on the way here. The other one's pretty busted up but the docs think he's going to make it."

Devitt cocked his head. "What does that have to do with us?"

"That description you sent around, about the bald biker, the one who stabbed the lieutenant? It matches the description of our dead biker to a T."

# # # # #

"Thanks for coming in, fellas. We really appreciate it." Healey dropped onto a grey metal chair on the far side of the long grey metal table in the Colville police station; Haseejian was already seated, smiling genially at the three young men facing them.

"Can we get you a Coke or a coffee or something?"

All three shook their heads. "Ah, no, sir, thank you," the slightly overweight blond with the military buzzcut shook his head with a nervous smile.

"Chris Miller, right?" Healey asked with raised eyebrows and a calming grin.

"Yes, sir."

Healey looked at the other two. "Johnny?" Another nod. "So you must be Charlie Burke?"

The handsome young man with the long, well-kept blonde hair and the soft blue eyes nodded carefully. His brows were knit and he was biting his bottom lip.

"Relax, fellas, you're not in trouble," Haseejian chuckled. "We just want to ask you a few questions about Patches."

"But we already talked to the other guys…" Mitchell offered, his nervous eyes snapping back and forth between the two detectives.

"We know," Healey nodded, "but, ah, well, I'm sure you've heard something about what happened there the other night, right?"

There were three hesitant nods from the other side of the table, three pairs of eyes that never left their own.

"We had nothin' to do –" Miller blurted out; Healey stopped him with an upraised hand.

"We know, don't worry. It's not about that. We just want to know what you fellas can tell us about what goes on at Patches?"

The three friends looked at each other, frowning in confusion. "What do you mean?" Mitchell asked tentatively.

"Well, ah, we know you guys visit there a little more than just… once in awhile, right? I mean, you like to go drinking there and shoot some pool every now and then, right?" When there was no immediate answer, he chuckled again. "Come on, fellas, we know there's not much to do here in Colville for you young people. Hell, if I was living here, I'd be in Crocker every night."

Miller was the first to smile, and he looked down quickly trying to hide it.

"Chris…?" Haseejian prompted.

The young man glanced at his friends then looked at the police sergeant. "What do you want to know?"

Healey leaned forward, putting his forearms against the edge of the table and smiling amiably. "So, ah, what do you fellas know about that biker gang that showed up at Patches the other night? Are they regulars, do they hang around there a lot?"

Miller snorted and both Mitchell and Burke glanced at him and smiled slightly. "Regulars? You can say that again. They're always there. They run that place."


	13. Chapter 13

Healey glanced at Haseejian, successfully keeping the surprise from showing on his face. The Armenian sergeant, who hadn't taken his eyes from Chris Miller, smiled with a slight frown. "What do you mean 'they run the place'?" The question sounded innocent.

Miller chuckled almost in relief, realizing that he had something the detectives wanted to know, something that could help in their investigation. He'd been fascinated by police work since he was a kid and was still toying with the idea of becoming a cop.

He glanced almost guiltily at his friends but didn't see any resistance. "Well, ah, they're there all the time, those bikers. They've been there almost every time we have. Right?" He looked at Mitchell and Burke again and they both nodded.

"Do you know which one of them is their… leader, I guess you could call it?"

"You mean, like, the boss?" Mitchell asked.

Healey nodded. The three young men exchanged glances and shrugs. "Not really," Burke piped up, "all of them are assholes. When we're shooting pool and they come in, we give up the table pretty fast."

"Why is that?" Haseejian asked casually, the hair on the back of his neck beginning to stand.

Mitchell snorted mirthlessly. "The first time we were playing and they came in…? They were all over us, blocking our shots, bumping into us… It didn't take long to realize that we'd better get the hell out of there before they beat the shit out of us."

"Yeah," Burke added as they warmed to the subject, "one of 'em even picked up my hamburger and took a big bite out of it!"

"Yeah, I remember that!" Miller laughed then remembered where he was and his smile instantly disappeared.

Chuckling, Healey sat back and smiled. "So as far as you guys know, the waitresses and the bartender, they know these bikers, right?"

"Oh yeah," Mitchell nodded enthusiastically, "I don't even think the bikers have to pay… I've never seen any money changing hands when we've been there. Have you?" he asked his friends and they shook their heads.

Haseejian glanced at his partner. "Okay, fellas, well, thanks a lot, you guys have been a big help." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a twenty, giving it to Mitchell. "Here, why don't you get yourselves a burger and a Coke, on us."

Grinning, Mitchell took the bill. "Thanks." The three young men got up and were turning away when Mitchell swung back. "Listen, um, the other detectives we talked to the other day, they said they were going to try to find out what happened to Craig." He hesitated for a beat. "I, ah, I really hope you do. I, ah…" He glanced at the others. "We miss him."

Healey smiled grimly. "We'll do our best, son."

# # # # #

Mike was awake and sitting up when Devitt finally got back to the room.

"How are you feeling?" the grey-haired lieutenant asked with a smile as he approached the bed.

Mike's eye had immediately traveled to the small object Devitt was carrying. Ignoring the inquiry he gestured with his chin toward his colleague's hand. "What's that?"

With a slightly peeved snort, Devitt put his hand behind his back. "Hold your horses, will you? Something's come up, and I'm going to show you a Polaroid and I want you to tell me if you recognize the guy."

Mike watched, frowning, as Devitt raised his hand and gave him the square colour photo. The blue eye had scarcely glanced at the picture when it snapped back to Devitt's face. "That's him. Is he dead?" He was in full cop mode.

Devitt nodded. "Yeah."

"What the hell happened?"

Devitt explained what Chief Ryan had told him, about the two bikers being deliberately knocked from their bikes just outside Eureka, the bald biker dying and the other expected to survive.

Before Mike could comment, Devitt held up a hand. "Don't worry, we're all over it. We have a guard on the injured biker and the doctors have told us he could be able to talk by tomorrow so I'm gonna have Norm and Dan come back in the morning and we'll see what we can get outa him."

Mike had been staring expressionlessly at the photo and now he looked at his colleague again. "What will you try to get out of him?"

"Well, we want to know what happened to Steve, of course, and if he's the guy that kicked you, then the odds are he knows. But the guys have been busy in Crocker, and they've uncovered some interesting stuff."

"Like what?"

Devitt looked at him closely. Mike still looked like hell but it was easy to see he was definitely on the mend. "I'll let them tell you in the morning so you get it right from the horse's mouth, so to speak. But it's good, we're making progress."

Mike stared at him evenly. "I want to be there tomorrow when you talk to the biker."

Even before he'd finished the sentence, Devitt started to shake his head. "That is not happening and you know it. I know they're going to get you up tomorrow but only to sit in a chair and maybe take a short walk down the corridor. So don't push your luck."

Mike's inhale was sharp and pointed. "Roy, you said I wouldn't be shut out of –"

"And you won't be… I promise," Devitt interrupted, "but be reasonable, Mike, you're not up to it yet and you know it. All you're going to do is slow your recovery down and then you won't be of _any_ use to us… or to Steve. And you don't want that, do you?" He was staring at the bedridden man as if daring him to argue.

Finally Mike looked away and sighed. Smiling sympathetically, Devitt patted his friend's arm. "I know," he said quietly. "But trust us, Mike, the guys know what to ask. We'll get all we can out of that guy, even if I have to hold Norm back from beating the shit out of him."

Mike's head snapped back towards him, frowning in alarm, only to meet Devitt's mischievous smile. After a couple of silent seconds, he began to smile and shake his head. Devitt laughed, putting his hand on Mike's shoulder and squeezing.

# # # # #

Haseejian raised his eyebrows and nodded. "You're right, these are really good," he finally managed to get out after he swallowed, gesturing towards Sheriff Manley with what was left of half a BLT.

The Colville cop nodded and chuckled, lowering his voice. "Like I told your colleagues, it's the only thing that is."

The two San Francisco detectives laughed. Healey glanced at Haseejian then leaned over the table. "So John, we had an interesting day today." As they ate, Manley was brought up to speed about what their interviews had produced.

Manley sat back. "So every one of the staff said that Mike was in there alone? Both days he was there?"

Healey nodded, his eyebrows raised. "Yeah… just like what Lassiter said they told his deputies on the night the assault happened."

Nodding slowly, Haseejian pulled his chair a little closer, pushing his empty plate away and resting his forearms on the table. "So the question now is, are they in on this… whatever it is… altogether? Or did Lassiter get to the bar staff and somehow… I don't know… coerced them into backing up his story?"

The others stared at him, all of them mulling this over, but none of them said anything. Healey sat back and a grim half-smile curled his lips. "Oh yeah, you're gonna like this," he almost chuckled as he stared at Manley. "Lassiter did make one slip, and I don't think he realized it. I mean, it took Norm and me awhile to pick up on it, it went by so fast."

Manley's forehead creased even further, intrigued.

Healey's smile grew as he glanced at his partner. "He said 'If it was a couple of my guys, I'd want to do the same.'"

The Colville sheriff's eyebrows climbed into his hairline. "Son of a bitch…" He closed his eyes and a soft smile curled his lips as he brought his hands in front of his face in a praying gesture. "Oh please, please let me be the one to finally snap the cuffs on that little piece of shit when we finally figure this all out."

Haseejian laughed. "It'll be our pleasure, believe me. But we gotta get there first."

"Yeah," Healey said as he took one of Steve's notebooks out of his pocket and tossed it on the table. "There's a note that Steve made that we can't figure out," he said as he opened the book and flipped a few pages. "It's all by itself, no explanation."

"Shoot."

" _Company town_."

Manley snorted. "That really has nothing to do with the investigation; it's about Colville." He explained to the big-city cops about the town's history and its decline. When he finished, Healey frowned, looking down at the notebook. "I wonder why he made that note…" he mused quietly, then shook his head with a facial shrug and put the book back in his pocket. "John, I know Crocker is in another jurisdiction, but is there some way we can get complete background checks on everyone that works at Patches."

The sheriff nodded. "Sure, I can get Ryan and Carole to put a file together, but it won't be complete. But, say, you guys are going into Eureka tomorrow. Crocker has a weekly paper, the Courier. It's been publishing for decades. The library in Eureka has every issue on microfiche. And the Courier, like every weekly I've ever seen, has a regular column about the locals. I'll bet you can get a lot of information there as well."

Healey glanced at his partner and smiled. "Sounds like we're gonna have a busy day tomorrow."

# # # # #

Haseejian knocked softly on the wooden door. "Hey," Devitt grinned when he opened it and took a step back, allowing the two sergeants into the room.

Mike, in a hospital gown, bathrobe and socks, was sitting in the mustard yellow armchair beside the bed, the IV line in the back of his left hand. His head was still bandaged, his right eye still swollen and purple, but his lip was back to normal size and he sported a welcoming smile.

"Well, look at you," Healey sighed happily as he stepped deeper into the room, allowing the door to close behind him. "Great to see you up, Mike." He reached out and they shook hands.

"Dan," Mike nodded in greeting, "good to see you. Norm."

Haseejian grinned. "Mike. You're looking pretty good. How are you feeling?"

Mike tilted his head slightly. "Well, as good as I can expect, I guess. It still hurts."

"I bet." He hefted the suitcase in his right hand. "I packed your stuff. I figured you needed it here more than back in the motel room."

"Thanks, Norm. It'll be great to brush my teeth again," Mike chuckled.

An awkward silence filled the room.

Devitt took the suitcase. "I'll, ah, I'll just put it in the closet," he said suddenly.

Healey looked at his boss. "Listen, Mike, I know we haven't gotten very far yet, but we're not –"

Mike raised a hand and cut him off. "Dan, don't apologize. I know you're doing everything you can."

Haseejian nodded soberly. "We'll get him back, Mike."

"I know you will."

There was a knock on the door and Healey turned to open it. Eureka Police Chief Ryan frowned briefly in confusion then nodded, stepping into the room. Devitt made the hasty introductions. Ryan looked at the two sergeants. "I just got word that Robert 'Mongo' Porter is ready to have visitors."

"'Mongo'?" Devitt echoed with a smirk.

Ryan cocked his head and smiled. "It seems all those biker guys have a nickname." He shook his head in annoyance, a little less than impressed. "We got his real name from the driver's license in his back pocket." He looked at Healey. "He's in a lot of pain but he's awake. Shall we go and have a little talk?" He smiled conspiratorially.

Healey stared at Ryan with his own anticipatory smile then turned to his colleagues.

Mike was staring at him soberly. "Find Steve," the injured lieutenant pleaded quietly.

Healey's smile disappeared. "We will," he promised softly.


	14. Chapter 14

Robert 'Mongo' Porter was in bad shape. He was lying on a bed in the ICU with his neck in a brace, his left arm and shoulder in a cast, his left leg in traction and his bruised and battered head swaddled in bandages.

The Eureka patrolman standing near the doorway nodded as his boss and two men he didn't recognize approached. Chief Ryan smiled. "We'll be a little while, Carson. Why don't you go on down to the cafeteria and get yourself a coffee?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

As the young man headed away, Ryan led the others into the ICU cubicle. He stood near the door as Healey moved closer to one side of the bed and Haseejian crossed around to the other side.

Porter's eyes were closed. Haseejian looked from the biker to his partner and frowned. Healey shrugged. The Armenian sergeant leaned over the bed. "Mr. Porter," he stage whispered to the seemingly unresponsive man. When there was still no response, he raised his voice. "Mr. Porter!"

The biker's eyes shot open, glaring straight up at the ceiling then turned slowly to meet the sergeant's.

"Gee, you _are_ awake," Haseejian said cordially as he straightened up, chuckling. "I'm Sergeant Haseejian and this is Sergeant Healey, SFPD," he added with a quick glance at his partner, both of them holding out their stars and I.D.'s. and smiling coldly.

"We have a few questions for you, Mr. Porter," Healey said, pocketing his badge and taking out his notebook and pen. "Hope you don't mind."

Porter's eyes had slid in Healey's direction but his mouth remained closed. When the two detectives didn't elaborate, he growled lowly, "I ain't never been to 'Frisco."

Wincing, Haseejian leaned over the bed again. "Yeah," he began slowly, "that's obvious… but we're not interested in that. We're interested in why you got into this little, ah…" he gestured with his chin towards the biker's broken body, "this little… accident. That's what it was, right? An accident?"

Porter's eyes returned to their study of the ceiling. "Yeah. An accident."

"So… what?" Healey asked facetiously, "Are you that bad a biker…? You lost control and drove into a ditch?"

Porter could hear the other cop laugh and he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. Healey looked at Haseejian and they shared a brief smile.

"Who'd you piss off, Porter?" Healey asked almost casually and watched as the injured biker squeeze his eyes closed even tighter. He knew he had hit a nerve. "Who did you make so angry they'd want to run you and your buddy off the road?"

Haseejian took a Polaroid snapshot out of his pocket. "He's dead, Porter. Your buddy? He hit a tree, did you know that? Elvin 'Paunchy' Laird. That was his name wasn't it? Well, anyway, he died in the ambulance on the way here. If you don't believe me, look at this." He held the photo in front of the biker's face.

After several tense seconds, Porter opened his eyes, refocusing onto the Polaroid. Both sergeants saw the sudden shock and grief that briefly washed over the otherwise stoic visage.

"What did you do?" Healey tried again. "What did you and your buddy do to make someone so mad they'd want to kill you?"

Porter closed his eyes again.

"Did it have something to do with what happened at Patches the other night?" Haseejian prodded. "To what you and your… friends did to those two guys who were just in there playing pool?" Porter stiffened slightly; the cop glanced up at his partner and they exchanged a subtle nod. "They weren't just…you know, bar patrons, if that's what you were thinking. They were cops. Homicide cops from San Francisco… like us. The guy that was stabbed with the beer bottle? He's our lieutenant."

Haseejian paused to let the full weight of this revelation to sink in. "We know it was your dead buddy that stabbed him. And we know you were the one that kicked him in the head when he was down. And we haven't even mentioned our colleague who just disappeared, the one someone hit over the head with a pool cue. So, ah, in case you were wondering why two San Francisco cops are here talking to you right now… well, that's why."

Porter hadn't opened his eyes but his entire body had tensed.

Healey leaned closer. "Is that why they tried to kill you? To shut you up about what happened the other night? Or is there more to it than that?"

When there was still no response, Healey straightened up. "Okay, if that's the way you want to play this. But you know, if they tried to kill you once, and they didn't succeed, you think they're just going to walk away? You don't think they're gonna try it again?" He looked up at his partner. "What do you think, Norm?" His tone was almost playful.

"Oh, I don't know… if I was them, I'd want this guy gone for good, wouldn't you? I mean, hell, you can't move, you're kinda stuck here, aren't you? Talk about a sitting duck!" He chuckled evilly.

"Yeah," Healey laughed, "that's for sure. But, hey, that's his choice, right? If he doesn't want to talk, well, then we don't have to offer him protection, right?" He looked over his shoulder. "Chief?"

"Yeah?" Ryan answered, pushing away from the door and taking a couple of steps deeper into the room.

"We're getting nowhere here. How about you take the guard off the door and we'll let Porter here figure out what he wants to do. How does that sound?"

"Sounds like a good idea to me. There's no reason for us to offer him any protection if he's not going to cooperate. I'll tell my man to stand down."

As the police chief moved towards the door and reached for the handle, Porter finally spoke. "Wait a minute."

All three cops turned back to the bed. The biker's eyes were once more staring at the ceiling. He let an ominous silence hang in the air for several seconds then he said quietly. "I'll talk… but I want protection… and I want immunity."

Haseejian took a step closer to the bed. "You'll talk about what? About what happened to both those cops?"

Porter finally turned his head to make eye contact with the stocky sergeant. His lips curled into a mirthless smile that sent a chill down Haseejian's spine. "That's just the tip of the iceberg. There's things going on in Crocker that'll curdle the blood in your veins. But time's runnin' out… and it's runnin' out fast."

Their eyes locked in silence for several very long seconds then Haseejian turned his head slightly towards Chief Ryan. "Can you get us in to see the District Attorney?"

"I'll set it up as soon as I can."

With a smug, insolent smile, Porter's eyes slid away to stare at the ceiling once more. When he closed them, the smile remained.

# # # # #

"What do you think he was getting at?" Devitt asked, snapping a quick look in Mike's direction. His colleague was back in the bed, but sitting up and watching them with his usual intensity.

Both sergeants shook their heads. "We don't know," Healey answered, "but whatever he was alluding to, I have the feeling he's not bluffing."

"I agree," Haseejian concurred. "He definitely knows something. And I have a feeling that him and Laird going after you and Steve," he said to Mike, "that's the reason they were targeted and taken out. I just don't know why yet."

"Any hunches you want to share?" Mike asked with the ghost of a smile on his lips.

Both sergeants smiled. "Not yet," Healey answered and Haseejian nodded in agreement. "There're some things we want to check out first."

Haseejian glanced at his watch. "And if we're gonna get it done today, we gotta get outa here." Both men stood.

Healey looked at Devitt. "Ryan said he'd call here to let us know when we can get in to see the DA."

Devitt nodded. "I'll take the call."

"Great. Okay, see you guys later. Hopefully with more good news." Healey stopped at the door and turned back, looking directly at Mike. "It isn't exactly concrete evidence, but Porter didn't deny that Steve was in the bar. It's not much, but it's something."

"It's a lot, Dan," Mike said quietly, "believe me, it's a lot."

Healey nodded grimly. "We're getting closer."

# # # # #

"This could be something," Healey said softly, almost squinting at the slightly fuzzy type print on the large black-and-white monitor in front of him.

"What's that?" Haseejian was doing the same at the desk adjacent.

"It's a notice in the _Crocker Comin's and Goin's_ column again." Neither of them could stifle the smile and chuckle that always accompanied the title of the regular feature in the town's Wednesday weekly. "A Robert Edward Crocker married a Brenda Joyce Phillips." Healey made a notation in the notebook near his right hand.

"How many is that?"

"Crockers?" Healey mumbled as he counted. "Nine, and I've only gone through two years worth so far… Big family…"

Haseejian laughed, continuing to stare at his screen. Suddenly he looked away, paused, then raised his head. "Dan, what was her name again, her maiden name?"

"Ah, Phillips. Why?"

Haseejian turned the right knob on the microfiche reader, 'turning' the pages back. He stopped moving the facsimile of the newspaper and leaned closer to the screen. "Yeah, I thought so. A B. Phillips is recorded as the owner of B.P. Motors, the Ford dealership – the only car dealership, by the way – in Crocker." He looked at his partner and raised his eyebrows. "Coincidence?"

Healey smiled sardonically. "Of course it is…" He leaned back and picked up his notebook, flipping a few pages. "I have six major businesses in Crocker owned by members, one way or another, of the Crocker family. You?"

The Armenian sergeant was doing the same. "I got four, so far."

They sat in silence for several seconds, attempting to sort out in their own minds what this could mean. It was Healey who finally put it into words.

"You know, ever since I saw that note in Steve's book about 'company town' and we talked to Manley about it, something's been tickling me in the back of my mind."

Haseejian snorted. "I know that feeling."

"Yeah, I know you do."

"So, what's your little niggling trying to tell you?"

Healey swallowed heavily then shook his head with a look of dread-filled inevitability. "I'm beginning to think that Crocker is a company town too – but the _company_ isn't lumber, it's heroin."

# # # # #

It was crowded in Mike's hospital room. The legitimate occupant was lying on the bed; Chief Ryan, Sheriff Manley, Devitt and Haseejian were in chairs; Healey had the floor.

"So what we're saying is," Healey was coming to his conclusion, "from what we've been able to glean from the microfiche and talking to some people steeped in local history, Crocker was founded by the Crocker family about a hundred years ago and has been a sort of a 'company town,'" he glanced at Manley and smiled, "ever since.

"Now from what we found out, and we still have to confirm it, of course, the Crocker family started out in lumber… same as the founders of Colville, right?" He directed the question to Manley, who nodded.

"Right. So, anyway, Crocker prospered and grew bigger than Colville, and survived when the lumber company pulled out of Colville because the one in Crocker stayed put. But from what we've found out, the mill in Crocker hasn't been doing very well, and it hasn't for a long time." He glanced at his partner, who stood up and took over while Healey grabbed his bottle of Coke from the table near Mike and took a swig.

"Yeah, so, Crocker, the town, seems to be flourishing. And it is. So the question becomes, how? It's certainly not the mill. And we've found out that just about every business in Crocker is owned by a member, by birth or by marriage, of the Crocker family, including Patches."

He smiled at Mike, who was watching him with a slight frown. "We have a couple of pictures to show you, boss."

Healey picked up a file folder that had been sitting on the bedtable. He opened it and took out a copy of a newspaper photo. It was slightly blurry but not enough to make it illegible. "Does she look familiar?"

Mike stared at the young woman in the wedding photo. Something triggered in his mind. He closed his left eye, concentrating. The others waited. Suddenly his eye shot open again and he looked up at Healey. "The first night Steve and I went to Patches. She came in with a couple of young men and she was eyeing Steve, rather blatantly, I thought, in front of her… friends." Mike cocked his head. "Why?"

Healey smiled slightly. "This is Rachel Jane MacArthur, nee Crocker. The fourth of the current patriarch James Crocker's five daughters. Her uncle-in-law Brian MacArthur owns Patches and his son Charles – whom everybody calls Chuck – manages it."

Mike handed the paper back to Healey with a light smile. "What else you got?"

Grinning, Healey handed him another photo. It was of a pretty young brunette posing in a cheerleader outfit and holding a baton.

"She was our waitress," Mike stated immediately.

Nodding, Healey took the paper and showed it to the others. "Meet Joan Karanski, Rachel MacArthur's niece… another Crocker."

"Jesus, they're like rabbits," Devitt snorted, taking the photocopy from Healey and staring at it.

"More like cockroaches," Manley offered, holding out a manila file folder of his own. "Have a look at this."

Warily, Healey took the folder and opened it. His eyes scanned the top page. Suddenly he froze and his eyes snapped back to Manley. "Is this for real?"

The Colville sheriff nodded.

"What is it?" Chief Ryan asked.

Healey's eyes met all the others before settling on Mike. "Sheriff Barry Lassiter's wife's maiden name is Mary Elizabeth Crocker."


	15. Chapter 15

Nobody moved for several long seconds as the implications sunk in. Healey finally turned and stared at Chief Ryan, who knew immediately what the look meant.

"The DA and I have a good relationship. He took me seriously. We should be getting a call any minute… I hope." His voice had trickled down to an optimistic whisper.

Devitt dropped his head into his hands and ran them through his hair. He looked up at Mike, who hadn't moved for a long time. "What are you thinking?"

The injured lieutenant turned his head toward his colleague, meeting his eyes. Devitt's head went back slightly and he smiled despite the seriousness of the situation. "I just realized I can see your right eye now," he said quietly with a soft chuckle and the others looked at Mike as well.

It was true; the facial swelling was subsiding enough that the blue iris of his right eye could be seen through the still purple bruise. Mike silently acknowledged their smiles of relief and encouragement then turned his attention back to Devitt. "I'm thinking Dan and Norm are right… that this is a lot bigger than just three missing kids and a random attack on Steve and me. But they're all related. We have to find out how and why, and we have to do it soon if we want to get Steve back… alive." His voice cracked slightly but he continued, "And we're going to have to move fast when we put this altogether."

The chief and the sheriff were nodding. "I agree entirely," Ryan said with a confirming nod at the bedridden San Francisco cop. "I've already told my lieutenants and sergeants that we're going to have to use some of our guys as back-up in case we need to stage a raid in or near Crocker. And I've been in touch with the CSP, because I have a feeling we're going to need the State Police in order to do whatever we need to do without the permission of the Crocker Police Department."

Almost everyone in the room snickered. "Yeah," Haseejian growled sarcastically, "he's gonna be a big help."

"The state troopers can lend a hand, but they don't have jurisdiction in Crocker either. We're gonna be on our own, essentially," Manley added, shaking his head.

"Well, I don't know about you guys, but at this point I don't care whose jurisdiction it is. If we find out Steve and the other young fellas are being held somewhere in or around Crocker, nobody's gonna stop me from trying to find them." Healey's declaration silenced the room; the sergeant's gaze travelled slowly towards the bed. Mike's eyes were bright and he nodded with a soft smile, a furrowed brow and a trembling chin.

A soft knock on the door interrupted the suddenly tense moment. Manley, who was closest, got up and pulled it open. "Excuse me," said a nurse on the other side, "there's a phone call for the Chief."

Ryan shot to his feet and grabbed the edge of the door, pulling it open quickly and pushing past Manley. "Great, thanks. I'll be right back." He disappeared down the corridor.

Manley let the door close and turned back to the room. "I think I have all my fingers and toes crossed, gentlemen."

# # # # #

Healey glanced at his watch. 8:41. He and Haseejian had scarfed down club sandwiches in the hospital cafeteria after the meeting in Mike's room and now they were waiting for Chief Ryan and the Humboldt County ADA to negotiate the terms of Porter's immunity. The DA had fast-tracked Ryan's request and Porter had declined the offer of a lawyer, so things were starting to move at an almost breakneck pace.

Healey glanced at his partner and blew out a deep breath. Despite his years of experience, for some reason he was more nervous than he'd been in a long, long time, probably since he was a rookie in Homicide years before. There was a lot riding on what they were hoping to learn in the next few minutes and hours, and there was a promise he was determined to keep.

The ICU waiting room was almost empty; Haseejian was trying to concentrate on an old issue of Time but finally tossed it on the chair beside him in frustration. Nerves were fraying.

Chief Ryan suddenly appeared in the ICU doorway and beckoned them in. Both detectives shot to their feet and began to follow.

"Paperwork's all done," Ryan filled them in as they crossed to Porter's cubicle. A white four-panel room divider had been set up outside the open doorway to allow for privacy and it was pulled aside slightly to allow them to enter the small space. At the far side of the bed, tucked into the corner, a court reporter was sitting on one of the hard metal hospital chairs, a stenograph machine on a small table before her.

ADA Alan Ricketts was standing in the near corner, his briefcase at his feet; he looked up and smiled slightly with a nod as the police chief and detectives entered the tiny room. Tilting his head towards the bed and its occupant, Ricketts sat in a chair against the wall and crossed his legs. "He's all yours."

Just as they had done earlier in the day, Healey stayed where he was and Haseejian crossed to the far side of the bed so they had Porter pinned between them. The injured biker's eyes were open and he was staring at the ceiling.

Healey inhaled deeply and glanced at his partner. "All right, Robert, you've got what you want- "

"Mongo."

Healey stopped with his mouth open. "What?"

"Call me Mongo," the biker repeated in a monotone.

Healey's eyes snapped to Haseejian, who was swallowing an irritated grin and shaking his head. Not rising to the bait, Healey chuckled. "All right… Mongo…" He cleared his throat pointedly. "As I was saying, you've got what you wanted, so now you tell us what we want to know."

"A deal's a deal," Porter growled. "Ask away."

"All right," the Irish detective said slowly, "why don't we start with Tuesday night, the night you and Elvin Laird –"

"Paunchy."

"Right, Paunchy," Healey shot another annoyed glare at his partner who closed his eyes and smiled slightly, a signal to just accept the insolence, keep his temper, and carry on. Clearing his throat again, Healey continued, "What set you all off? Why did… Paunchy stab the lieutenant and someone else hit the inspector with the pool cue?"

There was a dry snort from the bed. "Hell, I don't know about the…. inspector…? I never saw anybody hit that other guy, and that's a fact. I was a little busy, ah… you know, backing up my partner."

"Paunchy?"

"Yeah. He, ah, he has a short fuse…" Porter stopped himself. Still looking at the ceiling, he blinked quickly a couple of times but his expression never changed. "He had a short fuse sometimes. And people using our pool table could really set him off."

"So what you're saying is you had no idea that they were a couple of cops… they were just two guys who had the temerity to play pool on _his_ table?" Healey was trying to keep the anger and incredulity out of his tone.

"That's exactly what happened," Porter stated flatly, and the detectives looked at each other. Haseejian bit his bottom lip; the knuckles of his hands, which were wrapped around the top bar on the side of the bed, turned white.

"Were you trying to kill them?" Healey asked quietly.

Porter shook his head slightly. "Naw, we just wanted to teach 'em a lesson, that's all."

"You do that a lot?" Haseejian asked. "Teach someone a lesson?"

"Once in a while."

"And you never got in trouble for it, never got arrested?"

The biker snorted derisively. "In Crocker? You're kidding, right?"

The detectives shared a look. It was an opening that they wanted to pursue but it was too soon; they wanted, and needed, other information first.

"What happened to the inspector, the cop hit by the pool cue?"

For the first time Porter turned his head and looked into Healey's eyes. "You really have no idea what's going on in Crocker, do you?"

Healey stared back. "Tell us."

Porter smiled slightly. "Sit down… this could take awhile."

# # # # #

Devitt was leaning forward in the overstuffed armchair, his elbows on his thighs. He ran his hands down his face then rested his chin on his fists and looked towards the bed.

It was half-raised and its occupant was lying back against the pillows, his left hand across his stomach and his eyes closed. But Devitt knew he wasn't sleeping.

As if feeling his colleague's stare, Mike opened his eyes and slowly turned his head. They stared at each other for several long silent seconds, each knowing what the other was thinking, then Mike closed his eyes again and turned away.

# # # # #

"I'll stand, if that's okay with you, so you can start anytime. What's so special about Crocker?"

Porter stared at the dark-haired detective then his eyes flicked quickly to Ricketts sitting in the corner. The ADA nodded subtly. The biker's dark eyes returned to the cop. "Crocker shoulda been a ghost town years ago, like Colville and all the other burgs around here… but it's still alive… No one ever try to figure out why?" His eyes slid to Chief Ryan standing near the entrance and back again. "It sure ain't lumber."

"Then what is it?" Haseejian growled, starting to lose patience.

Porter glanced at the Armenian sergeant but chose not to answer him right away. His stare fixated once more on the ceiling. "What do you know about the Crockers?"

Healey glanced at Haseejian. "The family? We know there's a lot of them, and that they own most of the businesses in the town. Why?"

The biker snorted again. "They own more than just the businesses in Crocker, man… they own the whole damn town." He turned his head slowly and his eyes met Healey's. "Hell, they even own us."

"What do you mean _us_? You mean the bikers?"

"I mean the bikers, the bars, the restaurants, the newspaper, the motels, the shops… the police department."

Healey froze and he could sense the others doing the same; only the sound of the stenograph machine could be heard, steady and even.

"You mean…?"

"I mean good ol' Sheriff Lassiter is in the family's back pocket, that's what I mean!" Porter snapped angrily. He inhaled deeply. "It was the sheriff run us off the road."

"You know or you think?"

"I know," Porter said simply and coldly. "I saw him. He hit Paunchy before he hit me."

"Why did he do it?"

"Because Paunchy was a wild hair. He went after your cops without permission."

"Permission?"

"We don't do anything the family doesn't… approve. It was, ah… it was the wrong thing to do at the wrong time. It was too close to the meet…"

"Too close to what meet?" Healey could hear the blood pounding in his ears.

"Where do you think the family gets the money to run that town?" Porter smiled coldly again. "They're the pipeline for all of the heroin in this part of the country. It's smuggled in every six months from Southeast Asia… and the Crockers are the ones that control everything… who lives, who dies… who deals, who uses… and who disappears..."


	16. Chapter 16

A chill travelled down the spines of everyone in the room; even the stenographer glanced up from her machine.

Trying to keep the apprehension out of his voice, Healey swallowed heavily before he asked, "What do you mean _disappear?_ "

Porter turned to him slowly and a languid, scornful smile twisted his features. "I know exactly what you want from me… you want to know where your… your _boy_ is…" His words, quiet but exacting, hit their mark.

Healey stared back, unblinking. No one in the room moved; even the stenograph machine fell silent.

Haseejian watched Healey's stone face and heaving chest, knowing his partner was attempting with every muscle and sinew in his body to control his growing rage. Eventually Healey blinked and swallowed. " _Do_ you know where he is?"

The biker's rictus smile grew wider and he snorted contemptuously. "What do _you_ think?" His dark eyes slid insolently from one detective to the other and back. "There's still a lot to tell… you want to hear it or not?"

Healey inhaled deeply, staring coldly at the bedridden man before him. Slowly releasing his breath, he nodded.

Porter laughed callously then coughed. He looked at Haseejian. "Water…" he croaked.

With a scowl and a pointed look at his partner, the Armenian cop picked up the glass with the bendable straw from the table at his elbow and held it out. The sergeants stared at each other as the biker struggled to put his lips around the straw.

Finished, Porter let his head drop back against the pillow, trying not to wince; Haseejian put the glass back down with a deliberate thud.

Porter sighed. "Ah, where were we?" He was obviously relishing what little power he wielded at the moment.

Healey set his jaw. "You said the Crockers were a pipeline for the heroin coming in."

The biker smiled broadly again. "Oh yeah, that's right." He looked up at Haseejian, eyebrows raised. "You want to know about that?"

The sergeant stared back, resisting the urge to reach out and smack the slimy smirk off Porter's smug face. "Yes, we do."

"Cool!" he crowed then, inexplicably, the smile disappeared. "Just so you know, I'm not a user… never have been. I hate the stuff." His voice had become soft and far away. "My cousin died of an overdose a few months ago. He broke the code… he was a dealer that started to use…" He took a deep unsteady breath and his voice assumed a hard edge. "They found him with the needle still in his arm…"

The others waited. They knew the fury that was suddenly so evident was directed at the people who had facilitated this tragedy; they hoped it would fuel his desire to bring everything to an end.

"How do they bring the heroin in?" Healey prompted quietly. They needed this information, he knew, but they also knew they were up against some unknown timetable that could prove disastrous if they were hours or, daresay, minutes late.

As if reading his mind, Porter's eyes slid in Healey's direction. The slight smile was no longer gloatingly superior; it was almost sympathetic. "Don't worry," he said simply, "you still have enough time."

Frowning slightly, Healey cocked his head. "Enough time before what?"

Ignoring him, Porter stared at the ceiling. "Like I said, the heroin comes in from Southeast Asia… Thailand I think but don't quote me on that." A cold smile briefly flickered across his face. "About every six months a ship comes into the coast just north of here, up between McKinleyville and Trinidad. They know just when the Coast Guard patrols that area of the coast, which isn't too damn often…" He shrugged.

"The Crockers bring a couple a big boats up there. The ship gets as close as they can and the boats go out to it and unload the heroin. They put it into a bunch of cars and pick-ups instead of big trucks, so's not to call attention to themselves, and bring it all back to the ranch." Porter chuckled mirthlessly. "Piece a cake."

There were so many questions fighting for priority in the cops' minds that they didn't know where to start. Haseejian leaned over the bed. "Where, precisely, along the coast?"

Porter shook his head. "I don't know. I never went… I, ah, I'm a distributor of the final product, I guess you could say," he offered with a dry chuckle.

"They use the same place all the time?"

"I don't know… I think so."

"You said the Crocker ranch," Healey said. "Where's that?"

"Southeast, about two miles from the town limits. Everybody in town knows where it is; it's not hard to find."

"That's where they keep the heroin?"

Porter snorted again. "Keep it, cut it, distribute it… the whole megillah." He looked at Healey and shook his head slightly. "I bet you're wondering why no one's dropped a dime on them, right? How a whole town can keep their mouths shut about it?"

The Irish detective nodded slowly. "It had crossed my mind."

"That's 'cause you think the Crockers have the whole town under their thumb, right? Too scared of retaliation to do anything about it?" Both sergeants nodded. Porter shook his head. "You got that wrong. Nobody says anything about it because everybody is involved… and I mean _everybody._ You gotta give the Crockers credit, they, ah, they share the wealth, I guess you could call it. Nobody in town lacks for anything… the Crockers make sure of that. So I mean, why piss all over a good thing, right?"

"Then why are _you_ doing this?" Haseejian asked quietly, gesturing vaguely towards the ADA and the stenographer.

Porter clenched his teeth; they could see the muscles in his jaw tighten. "Because when the Crockers turn on you, you're as good as dead." He inhaled deeply. "When Paunchy lost his cool the other day and went after your friend, he put the entire… operation in jeopardy."

"Why?"

"Like I said, because of the timing."

"You mean they're due for another heroin shipment?"

Porter nodded.

"When?" Haseejian demanded.

The biker looked up and met his eyes coldly and evenly. "Tomorrow night."

Startled, the two detectives looked at each other. Suddenly time was truly of the essence.

Trying to control his pounding heart, Healey nodded slowly. "All right…but what about those missing boys? What about our colleague? How do they figure into all this?"

Porter's eyes suddenly went dark and he sunk back against the pillow. The detectives exchanged worried looks.

"The one thing I haven't told you about is how the Crockers pay for all this heroin. Sure they make a fortune selling it, but they gotta pay for it too." He swallowed heavily, for the first time almost reluctant to elaborate further. "That, ah…" He stopped and exhaled slowly, as if trying to find the right words. "The big boss back in Thailand or wherever… seems he has very specific tastes when it comes to, ah…" He paused again and briefly closed his eyes. "Let's just say he gets paid with a big wad of American cash… and a young, handsome American boy…"

Healey felt the floor come up and hit him in the face. For a second he couldn't believe what he had heard and his eyes snapped to Haseejian. His partner was staring at Porter with an open mouth and wide eyes. The room was enveloped in a shocked and sickened silence. And he knew he had heard Porter correctly.

"You mean…?" he began slowly as he gained control of his voice.

"I mean exactly what I said," Porter almost snapped, opening his eyes and glaring at the appalled men looming over him.

"That's why a boy disappeared every six months…" Haseejian breathed from across the bed.

The biker nodded. "They weren't the only ones, believe me… this's been going on for almost four years. Just nobody caught on before now…"

They could tell that Porter was uncomfortable and they pressed him. "How do you know about all this?"

"Everybody knows," came the soft reply. "It's the cost of doing business, I guess."

"So that's why everybody at Patches told us that our lieutenant was in the bar alone?"

Porter nodded. "Like I said, the Crockers own the town lock, stock and barrel."

Healey suddenly shook his head. "I don't understand. If they already had the… the boy for this meet, why did they take Steve?"

The biker snorted slightly; it was the first time he had heard the missing cop's name. Then he shook his head. "I don't know… I really don't. Opportunity, I guess?"

Haseejian leaned closer and fixed Porter with an unyielding stare. "Do you think he's still alive?"

The biker turned informant stared back. "If he was alive when they dragged him from Patches, yeah, I think he would be. I mean, hell, it's just as easy to deliver two… packages to the ship as it is one, isn't it? Curry a little more favour with the boss back in Thailand? I mean, it can't hurt, can it? And no one's the wiser."

# # # # #

"I'll get a call in to the Coast Guard right away," Ryan said as they strode quickly down the corridor towards the stairwell. There was no time to use the stairs to get back to Mike's room. "I'll get in touch with the DA again and get warrants for search, seizure and arrest. And I'll call Manley, get him back here. Meet you up in the room when I finish."

Ryan continued down the corridor to the payphones while Healey and Haseejian entered the stairwell and headed up the steps at a jog. Reaching the fourth floor they started quickly down the corridor, each lost in his own thoughts.

Haseejian glanced at his partner. "How the hell are we gonna tell Mike?"

They stopped briefly outside the wooden door and exchanged almost heartbroken looks. "I have no idea," Healey breathed as he pushed the door open without bothering to knock.

The eyes of both lieutenants were on them before they could step through the door. Mike started pushing himself up into a sitting position as Devitt stood. "Well?" he said anxiously.

"We've got to make a move, and we've got to do it soon," Healey said quickly, taking them both in with a look that informed them that the interrogation had yielded results.

"He talked?" Mike asked, his blue eyes boring into his sergeants troubled faces.

"And then some," Haseejian nodded. "Ryan is getting in touch with Manley to get him and his deputy back here right now… and he's contacting the DA and the Coast Guard."

"The Coast Guard?" Devitt repeated. "Why?"

Healey glanced at his partner then looked back at the lieutenants. "Roy, you better have a seat. This is going to take awhile." The irony of his use of the phrase was not lost on either sergeant.

With a concerned glance at Mike, Devitt sat, leaning forward. Wincing slightly, Mike turned to face the sergeants, his brow furrowed in worried anticipation.

As quickly and accurately as they could, Healey and Haseejian relayed everything Porter had told them: about how the extended Crocker family not only ran but owned the town and everything in it; about how the attack on Mike and Steve had nothing to do with the Crocker family but was just the result of territoriality and a violent temper; about how the Crocker family business was the smuggling and trafficking of heroin shipped in from Southeast Asia and stored at their ranch just outside town; and about the impending heroin shipment arriving the following night.

When Haseejian finally paused in the narration, Mike fixed him with an anxious stare. "Did you find out what happened to Steve?"

The sergeants shared a quick, nervous glance then Healey softly cleared his throat as he took a half step closer to the bed. He inhaled as if to begin then closed his mouth again.

Mike lowered his chin. "Dan…" he prompted quietly, his eyebrows raised as he stared at his sergeant without blinking.

"We found out about the… about the young fellas." He took another deep breath, looking down. "The Crockers pay for the heroin in cash… and, ah… and –"

"No," Mike cut him off quietly, shaking his head slowly as he sat back a little, "no…"

Healey looked into Mike's widening eyes. "That's why one young man disappears every six months… just before the shipment comes in…"

"No…" Mike repeated again, still shaking his head.

Devitt, with a worried glance at Mike, asked quietly, "But if they already have someone, why -?"

"Porter said he thinks they took Steve… just because he was there… he fit the bill, so to speak… and a gift of two young men…" Healey cleared his throat uncomfortably, trying not to meet Mike's distraught stare.

Devitt took a step towards the bed but kept his eyes on the others. "Did Porter confirm he was still alive?" he asked quietly, putting into words the question Mike couldn't ask.

Haseejian glanced at Mike before looking at Devitt. "He said if Steve was alive when they took him from Patches, then he probably still is… but that he'll be put on the boat tomorrow night…"

Mike's gaze has fallen to the floor; he was immobile. Devitt stared at him for a few beats then looked back at his sergeants. "What's the plan?"

"Ryan is going to pull together as many men as we can get, and we're going to raid the ranch first thing in the morning, before sunrise, before they can get their shit together and start to head out to meet the ship on the coast."

Devitt nodded quickly. "Sounds good. Go. Go help him get it organized. I'll be with you as soon as I can."

With final worried glances at Mike, Healey and Haseejian left the room. When the door closed, Mike looked up at his colleague. There was a fear in his eyes that Devitt hadn't seen before. "Roy…" he said softly.

Their eyes remained locked for several long seconds. Then Devitt blinked. "I need you to promise me something, Mike," he said with quiet intensity. He crossed the short distance to the closet and opened it, pulling out the suitcase and setting it on the foot of the bed. "I need you to promise me you'll stay in the car."


	17. Chapter 17

**Never – Chapter 17**

The lead car pulled to the side of the dark country road; the lights snapped off. The four tailing cars pulled onto the gravel shoulder behind it and did the same. Twelve of the thirteen passengers got out, gathering beside the middle car.

Colville Sheriff John Manley addressed the assembled officers. "Okay, fellas, the ranch is about a mile and a half straight down this road. As far as… Hathaway and I know," he said with a brief smile at his deputy, whom he had had to start referring to by his last name to avoid confusion with the Eureka police chief, "there's only one way in, and that's off this road."

A couple of the officers in front of him glanced down the darkened blacktop with troubled frowns. Hathaway handed his boss a large roll of heavy paper; the sheriff leaned over the hood of the car and unfolded it. Hathaway held up a large flashlight and snapped it on. "This," Manley explained, "is the best topographical map with property lines I could get my hands on so fast."

As a couple of the others held the corners down, Manley began to point out the salient features. "Here's the ranch… here's where we are, on this road right here… Now, it looks like there's a small, probably dirt road right here," he pointed to a thin brown line on the map that seemed to run behind the property. He turned to his deputy. "Ryan."

The startlingly young-looking cop stepped forward. "I've only been out there once and I don't remember it too well. But I do know there's a big house and some outbuildings. I know there's a big barn not too far from the house, and there's a few sheds for tractors and cars and that kinda thing."

"Boats?" Haseejian suggested with a dry chuckle, and the others nodded with snorts.

"We're gonna concentrate on the house," Manley took over. "There's probably nobody sleeping in the barn, or so we hope… not at this time of year. And we'll sweep it after we secure the house. So, I'm suggesting, and Chief Ryan agrees, that we'll have surprise on our side if we make a full-on front raid, lights and sirens, so hopefully we can confuse them into thinking there are more of us than we actually are.

"We need four of you guys," he looked pointedly at the two CSP officers, Beckett and Sanderson, and two Eureka officers, Boone and Martinez; all four nodded. "We want you guys to try to locate this back road and get as close to the property as you can. And we need make sure we're all on the same time so we can start the raid together."

He turned to the four officers again. "We'll give you guys enough time to try to find the road and if you can't, you can come back here and join us going in the front way." They nodded.

"Okay, good, we want to strike at 5." He looked at his watch. "Everybody got 4:12?" They all checked their own watches and nodded. "Okay good. You guys can get going."

Nodding, the four heavily armed cops, dressed in black and wearing bulletproof vests, headed towards the black-and-white State Police car.

"Okay, fellas," Manley turned to the others. "this is how Chief Ryan and I think we should proceed. I wish we had more time to plan this, and better intelligence, but as you all well know, time is not on our side right now."

For the next few minutes, the two commanding officers laid out their plan for the raid against the Crocker ranch. When they'd finished, Devitt turned and leaned in the open window of the car they were standing beside. "Did you get all that?"

In khakis, a black windbreaker over a checked shirt and a black Giants baseball cap, Mike was sitting in the back of the SFPD moss green Galaxie. He nodded. "Yeah. It sounds like a good plan to me. I just wish we had more time… and more men."

"I know… me too. Let's just hope we do have surprise on our side… and the Coast Guard can intercept that ship before they have a chance to radio ashore."

# # # # #

By 4:55, when there was still no sign of the other four officers, Manley and Ryan knew they were in position. The sheriff and the chief huddled with the others for last minute instructions. Then they broke for their respective cars.

Devitt slid in beside Mike, Healey and Haseejian in the front of the SFPD sedan. As Healey turned the engine over and started to follow the others, Haseejian looked into the back seat and met Mike's worried eyes. The sergeant nodded encouragingly and Mike managed a small tight smile.

About a minute later, Manley's lead car picked up speed; the others followed suit. Suddenly the lights and siren on the Colville PD car snapped on; Healey reached for the siren toggle as Haseejian turned the cherry on and slapped it on the roof over his head.

The four police cars screamed into the expansive and almost empty gravel parking area in front of the large white clapboard ranch house; the only lights they could see were a small carriage lamp on the wraparound porch above the front door and a large yellowish overhead on a pole in the parking lot. The first two cars sped around the house to the right, the second two to the left. A car stopped at each corner of the house; leaving the engines, lights and sirens running, the doors sprang open and seven of the eight cops, guns drawn, sprinted towards the porch and the front door. Shouts could be heard from the treeline; the four other officers were charging towards the house from the rear.

The SFPD sedan had ended up near the back of the house. From the back seat, Mike could see a quarter of the rear of the house, the back door, and the front and far side of the large red-and-white barn. There were three garage-sized outbuildings near the treeline behind the car.

In the dark, moonless night, Mike lost track of his black-clad colleagues as they stormed the house, unable to hear anything over the deafening cacophony of the four sirens. He thought he heard the splintering of the front door but he couldn't be sure.

Blood was pounding in his ears and he knew he was breathing too fast and too shallowly. Even in the cool night air, his palms were sweating as he gripped the back of the front seat. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth in frustration; as much as he wanted to join his colleagues, he had a promise to keep.

He opened his eyes and sat back, breathing slowly and deeply through his open mouth. He was about to lean forward again when he caught movement from the corner of his eye. His head snapped to the right, in the direction of the barn, and he froze.

Someone was at the barn door. As Mike watched, the indistinguishable figure pulled the large heavy wooden door closed, lowering the latch and then disappearing towards the trees.

Mike looked back at the house. He couldn't see any of his colleagues but he still hadn't heard gunfire; hopefully things were going according to plan. He turned to look at the barn again. Every cop instinct was yelling at him, telling him there was something in the barn he needed to investigate and investigate now. _Steve…?_

He looked at the house, his chest heaving, his breath visible in cold night air. He had made a promise to Devitt, a promise he didn't take lightly. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to stop the trembling that had suddenly begun.

Then, with one last regretful look at the house, he opened the back door and crawled out. The simple act of getting to his feet was painful and he put his left hand across his bandaged stomach as he stood up. Leaving the door open, he moved as quickly as he could, or dared, towards the barn.

He could hear shouting coming from the house as he got to the large wooden door. Checking over his shoulder to make sure he was still alone, he lifted the latch and, gritting his teeth against the pain, pushed the tall heavy wooden door along the track just far enough so he could squeeze past it into the pitch-black barn.

There were spaces between the boards on the walls and thin, weak beams of light from the parking lot shone through. He stood still, listening, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark. Eventually he could make out the thick posts holding up the mow, empty standing stalls along the back and stacks of straw against the side walls.

He took a few tentative steps forward, unsure of his footing. He was looking for something, anything that was out of place. The sharp report of a gunshot reached his ears and he straightened up and froze, unconsciously holding his breath. His heart began to pound again.

Galvanized, he took a few more steps forward, his eyes raking the walls and floor. He had reached the ladder to the mow and was just about to put his foot on the bottom rung when his roving gaze caught something unusual on the floor to his right.

He crossed to it and, trying to ignore the pain, dropped to his knees, brushing aside the straw and dust. It was a large metal ring screwed into the wooden floor. With renewed vigor, he started to brush away more of the debris, ignoring the thin splinters of wood and straw that pierced his skin or drove themselves under his fingernails.

Within seconds he had uncovered the edges of a large trap door. Standing, setting his jaw for what he knew was going to be a painful task, he grabbed the metal ring and began to lift the door. It was heavy and, as he strained, he felt something snap in his stomach, radiating out in an agony that almost dropped him to his knees. Trying to stifle the scream of pain that threatened to erupt, he bit his bottom lip, held his breath and yanked the door high enough for momentum to take over and it slammed open onto the barn floor.

Briefly incapacitated by the pain in his belly, he let himself sag to the floor, trying to control his gasps, knowing he was still racing against time; he had no idea who had the upper hand back at the house. This could be his only chance. If anyone other than his colleagues had heard the deafening bang as the trap door hit the floor, his presence would be discovered in a matter of minutes, if not seconds.

He couldn't see into the black expanse below. He reached into the dark just beyond the lip and he felt what seemed to be a step. _If there are stairs, there must be a light somewhere,_ he thought, trying to keep focus. Moving gingerly, he sat on the lip, swinging his legs down onto a lower step and feeling around on the wall to the right. His fingers found the toggle of a light switch and, with a slight gasp and quick, triumphant smile, he snapped it on.

Weak light filled what seemed to be a large room spreading out below him. Putting his feet firmly on the step, he carefully pushed himself up. Everything suddenly swayed and he reached out to grab the edge of the trap door opening; black spots swam before his eyes and his legs felt rubbery. Bile rose in the back of his throat and he closed his eyes, trying to stay on his feet and not throw up. He put his free hand against his jacket over his stomach; he thought he could feel something warm and moist against his skin but decided to ignore it.

Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes, took his hand off the wall and made his way slowly down the stairs. Fetid air assaulted his nose and he almost gagged as he finally reached the floor of the large cavernous space.

Still trying to make out concrete shapes as his eyes raked the room, he took a tentative step forward then stopped. In the far corner he thought he could see what seemed to be bars.

As quickly as he could he crossed the dirt-strewn floor, his eyes widening and heart pounding as he got closer. It was a cell, the thick metal bars recessed into the walls; and someone was inside.


	18. Chapter 18

Trying to ignore the increasing physical discomfort, Mike practically ran the last few yards to the cage. He could see someone huddled in the corner, curled into a foetal position facing the wall. "Steve…?" he called out as he wrapped his hands around the bars and pulled, but they held firm.

There was no response. He wracked his brain trying to remember what clothes Steve had been wearing in the bar but he couldn't. He took a closer look at the cage; the door was closed and fastened with a large key lock. Frustrated, he pulled on the bars again. "Steve…!"

He glanced over his shoulder towards the staircase; he was still alone. His eyes were adjusting to the darkness even more. He stepped away from the cage and looked around, hoping to find something to use to break the lock. He returned to the stairs, vaguely recalling some things piled near the bottom step.

Holding his breath and trying not to moan, he bent over and started to feel around in the dark. Eventually his fingers touched something cold and hard and he picked it up, moving it into the light: a crowbar. "Yes!" he hissed through clenched teeth as he hurried back to the cage, glancing worriedly at the still unmoving form in the corner as he slid the straighter end of the crowbar between the shackle and the body of the lock.

He paused briefly, anticipating the pain, then threw all his weight down onto the crowbar. As the agony shot through his body, he felt the lock shatter, the momentum taking him hard into the cage. He cried out as his right shoulder and the side of his head connected with the bars, and he dropped to his knees, gasping for breath as, for a split second, everything went black. The crowbar fell noisily to the floor.

Breathing in short sharp gasps, Mike leaned back against the cage as he willed the pain to subside. Gritting his teeth, he turned onto his knees then pushed himself slowly and gingerly to his feet, using the bars for support.

The lock, the shackle snapped in half, was hanging uselessly from the now open door. He pulled on the bars and the door swung towards him with a high, piercing metallic squeal. Within seconds he had skittered across the matted straw-strewn floor and dropped to his knees beside the still unresponsive form.

"Steve…" he breathed again as he gently but quickly reached out and turned the body towards him. Eyes partially open under the matted hair, the grime-covered face of Craig Steen stared vacantly up at him.

Stunned and momentarily crestfallen, Mike pulled the young man into his arms. "You're gonna be okay, Craig," he whispered encouragingly, "I'm a cop… you're gonna be okay…"

Steen began to stir and be blinked several times, as if trying to focus. "Hel… help me," he whispered as he tried to lick his dry lips.

"We will… we will, son," Mike assured him again, "don't worry…" He was glancing around the cage, trying to figure out what to do next. He didn't want to leave the obviously traumatized young man, but he knew he couldn't do this on his own. "I have to go get help," he said quietly, trying to find a confidence he didn't really feel at the moment. "I'll be right back, I promise."

He began to lower Steen to the floor when a hand gripped his arm. "No… no… don't leave me…"

Mike hesitated for a beat, his heart torn by the desperation radiating from the young man, then he very gently pried the weak fingers from his forearm. "I promise you, I'll be right back. It's over, Craig… I promise you… it's over…"

With a whimper, Steen allowed himself to be lowered to the floor and, gritting his teeth, Mike staggered to his feet and crossed to the cage door. He was halfway to the stairs when he heard a soft sound like a whisper. Steen was calling for him, he thought, and he almost didn't stop but something about the sound made him pause.

He froze, holding his breath and cocking his head slightly as he strained to hear the sound again. Nothing. He was just about to take another step when a faint "Mike…" reached his ears.

He spun in the direction of the sound but couldn't see anything; the weak yellow bulb, covered in fly specks, cast almost no light. Unconsciously holding his breath, Mike moved as quickly as he dared across the uneven and hazard-laden floor. He heard his name breathed again as he got closer.

"Oh my god," he heard himself gasp as his eyes finally focused on the figure on the floor in the darkened corner. Steve Keller, his bound hands lashed to a large metal ring bolted to the barn wall, was half-sitting half-lying, his head against the wood as he stared at his approaching partner with wide, almost disbelieving eyes.

"Steve," Mike gasped again as he dropped to his knees, his stunned eyes taking in the unkempt hair, the heavy stubble, the bruised and dirtied face and the haunted but grateful eyes. He reached up and gently put his hands on both side of the young man's face, trying to smile through trembling lips and sudden tears.

"Mike…" Steve chuckled unsteadily, swallowing heavily and closing his eyes in relief.

"I've got you, buddy boy, I've got you," Mike patted the sides of his partner's face then took a deep breath, trying to regain some measure of professionalism. "Ah, let's get you out of here, shall we?" he suggested with a soft laugh as he looked at the young man's bound hands. A thick rope was wrapped several times around his wrists then looped through the large metal ring. Even in the very dim light, Mike could see the bloody chafing on Steve's wrists and he fought to control a sudden flash of anger.

He rose slightly on his knees and leaned closer to the wall. It didn't take long to figure out there was no way he could loosen the knots with his bare hands; he was going to have to find something to cut through the thick rope. The crowbar wouldn't work; he needed something sharp.

With a encouraging grin, he stared into Steve's eyes. "I've got to find a blade or something to cut through these ropes. I'll be right back, I promise."

Steve nodded, then watched as his partner pushed himself slowly to his feet and moved away. The older man did a good job of masking his discomfort as he crossed back towards the stairs. He tried to remember if he'd seen anything with a sharp blade but nothing came to mind.

He searched the area around the staircase as best he could but found nothing suitable. He paused, trying to think of what he could use, then remembered seeing what he thought were some farm implements hanging from the walls in the barn above.

With a glance back towards the darkened corner where his partner was tied, he started up the stairs. He was beginning to get a handle on the constant pain, he thought almost idly, as he slowly ascended the stairs, once again having to stop to let his eyes adjust to the dark.

It didn't take as long this time and he quickly began to make out the shapes of farm tools hanging from hooks along one wall. He moved to them quickly and began to look for something with a sharp edge. There was nothing he could see that bore even a passing resemblance to a blade. Finally his eyes settled on what looked like a small scythe.

He took it off the hook and carefully ran his left index finger along the blade; even with a thin layer of rust it was sharp. Satisfied, he almost jogged back to the stairs and returned to lower depths. He made his way over to Steve, who was staring at him with almost palpable relief.

With a warm but worried smile, Mike knelt close to the wall. "I'm gonna need a little slack," he said apologetically, "you're gonna have to try to raise your hands a little. Sorry."

Trying not to wince or groan, Steve struggled to sit up a bit straighter and lift his hands. Mike wanted to help but knew he didn't have the strength right now and didn't want to give away the fact that he wasn't a hundred percent. Eventually Steve managed to get some space between his hands and the wall.

Mike leaned over him, put the edge of the small scythe against the rope and began sawing it back and forth. The edge of the blade started to cut into the thick rope but Mike knew it was going to take time. He hoped they had enough. He still didn't know what was happening up at the house. He realized he hadn't heard any more shots, but that really didn't mean anything. He was hoping and praying that his colleagues were all right and everything was under control.

Concentrating on the rope, he didn't notice Steve staring at him until he heard the familiar voice. "Are you okay?"

The blue eyes briefly flicked the younger man's way, registering the hooded green eyes staring at his still bruised and swollen face. He smiled reassuringly. "I'm fine. Don't worry about me." His attention went back to the rope. "How are _you_ doing?"

Steve almost smiled. "Better now that you're here," he managed to get out through clenched teeth. He took a deep breath. "How's Craig?" he asked quietly, trying to nod towards the cage in the far corner.

Still working on the rope, Mike tilted his head with a facial shrug. "He's alive," he whispered and saw the younger man nod. "Can you raise your hands a little higher?"

Groaning slightly, Steve managed to shift his weight and lift his hands.

"Good, good."

"You're, ah… you're not here alone, are you?" Steve's tone was tinged with both awe and worry.

Mike managed a distracted smile, shaking his head slightly. "No… No, there's a bunch of guys with me… Roy, Norm, Dan, Sheriff Manley and his deputy and some other guys…"

"An army?" A gentle chuckle.

"Yeah… an army."

Mike shifted position so he could get a better angle at the rope. The blade was almost halfway through.

"I thought they stabbed you," Steve said quietly, his voice sounding scared and far away.

The sawing motion against the rope lost it's rhythm momentarily and Mike glanced down. "I'm fine… obviously. I wouldn't be here otherwise, right?"

Steve stared at him without moving for several seconds. "Right," he echoed softly.

His attention fully back on the rope, Mike smiled. "Almost done."

Steve attempted to raise his hands a little higher once more. It hurt like hell to do so but he needed to try. Mike shifted position again to get a better angle.

They both froze when they heard the sound of a footfall from the direction of the staircase. Tensing, Steve's eyes shot in that direction. Mike stopped sawing, glancing over his shoulder, then turned slightly.

Both of them could see the black silhouette of a tall, thin man standing on the bottom step, looking around the cavernous room. _Roy?_ Mike thought as he started to open his mouth to call out to him.

The stranger's right hand came up and there was a brief glint of light off the extremely long barrel of a revolver, which suddenly turned in their direction.

Mike spun back towards the wall, throwing himself in front of Steve, reaching above his partner's head to grab his hands and yank them down. The rope snapped apart and they tumbled as one to the ground as a deafening roar tore through the air.


	19. Chapter 19

They hit the floor hard. Taking Mike's full weight, Steve was winded, the air forced from his lungs momentarily. The roar of the gunshot was so loud in the low-ceilinged space he didn't hear the sharp intake of breath and pain-filled moan that tore from Mike's lips as his body slammed heavily against his partner and the wall.

The echo died quickly and an eerie silence filled the large dark room. Steve tried to get up but Mike wasn't moving. In his debilitated state, with his hands still tied together and his partner's unnervingly limp body across his own, he began to panic. "Mike… Mike…" He could barely get the name out.

"Mike!" A familiar voice cut through the oppressive silence as fast and heavy footsteps got closer. "Mike!" Suddenly a new presence loomed over them. "Oh, god, Steve!" came the surprised utterance and the younger man's eyes snapped up. A worried but relieved Roy Devitt, holstering his .38, stared at him wide-eyed before turning his attention to the frighteningly still lieutenant.

"Mike…" Steve breathed again, his voice laced with fear, and Devitt knelt, grabbing Mike's shoulders and rolling him over, away from the wall and off the younger man.

Mike's eyes were squeezed shut and he moaned as he was turned onto his back, his right hand travelling to his stomach and pressing against the black jacket. With the others staring at him, holding their breaths, he gasped then opened his eyes. He managed to smile, his gaze finding first Devitt then Steve, knowing they both thought he'd been shot. "I'm okay," he whispered, "it missed me. I'm okay…" He managed a soft chuckle as he started to push himself up into a sitting position, trying to hide his discomfort.

Relieved, Devitt helped him sit up and patted him gently on the shoulder before turning his attention to Steve. "Am I glad to see you! Are you okay?"

Steve smiled and nodded. "I'll be fine," he nodded, glancing at Devitt while keeping a worried eye on his partner.

"Roy," Mike said through slightly clenched teeth as he tried to shift into a more comfortable position, "Craig Steen's in the corner over there. He's alive but he's gonna need an ambulance."

Devitt glanced in the direction Mike indicated, then nodded as he got to his feet. "I'll go call for one. I'll be right back." He looked at the partners. "You two gonna be okay?"

They both nodded. "We'll be fine," Mike assured him. As their colleague hurried off, Mike focused on his young friend. "Here, don't move," he instructed as he pushed himself behind the younger man, his back against the wall, then put his arms around Steve and pulled him back against his chest. He started to work on the fraying rope around Steve's hands, carefully pulling the strands away, trying hard not to inflict any further damage to the badly chafed wrists.

After a few slightly tense and uncomfortable seconds, Steve exhaled loudly and leaned back into his partner, his head against Mike's shoulder. A small warm smile curled Mike's lips as his fingers pulled at the tightly knotted rope. He looked over at the trap door; he could barely make out the black shape of the body of the, he assumed, now dead gunman at the foot of the stairs. He turned back and cleared his throat quietly. "It's a good thing the cavalry arrived," he said with a gentle chuckle, and he felt Steve's body shake slightly as he nodded and laughed. Smiling happily to himself, Mike rested his chin on the top of Steve's head and continued to work on the rope.

He had just pulled the last strand free, dropping it to the straw-covered floor, when the sound of multiple footsteps could be heard pounding down the stairs, some crossing towards them, others heading in the direction of the cage and Craig Steen. "The ambulance is on its way," Devitt announced as he dropped to his knees beside them again.

"Holy shit, are you a sight for sore eyes!" Haseejian's rough voice reached his ears as Steve felt a large but gentle hand lightly touch the top of his head.

"Let's get you two out of here, okay?" Devitt suggested, trying to keep the worry out of his voice and eyes as he stared at Mike's ashen face in the dim light. He looked at Steve. "Can you stand?"

The young inspector nodded tentatively. "I think so."

With a confirming nod of his own, Devitt reached for Steve's arm, careful to avoid the bloody and abraded skin so visible on his wrists, and, with Haseejian assisting from the other side, got him unsteadily to his feet. "Can you walk out of here?"

Steve nodded again. "Yeah."

"Okay, good. Norm, you take him up."

"You got it." Putting Steve's left arm around his shoulders and his own right around Steve's waist, the duo started slowly for the stairs. The younger man looked over his shoulder at his partner who, still sitting against the wall, smiled and winked.

When Steve and Haseejian were out of earshot, Devitt turned to his colleague and squatted. After staring at him silently for several long seconds, he asked gently, "Are you okay?"

Mike let his head drop back against the wall and closed his eyes, chuckling. "Better than I deserve to be." He opened his eyes and smiled. "I'm okay. Let's get out of here."

Grinning, Devitt stood, reaching down to grab Mike's hand and help him up. With gritted teeth, using both the wall and Devitt for support, Mike held his breath until he gained his balance then, with Devitt walking a couple of steps behind, they crossed slowly towards the staircase.

Mike paused to stare at the dead gunman, at the blood and bullet hole in the back of the black leather jacket. He thought he looked like one of the bikers that had been in the bar but he couldn't be sure. A long-barreled Buntline Special was lying on the dirt-covered floor several feet from the outstretched right hand. "Thank god you were here," he said quietly, his tone slightly awed.

Devitt was looking at the fallen man as well. "Luckily I saw him slip out of the house and followed him…"

Mike looked at his colleague and smiled proudly. "I owe you one."

"You owe me nothing," Devitt returned the smile then gestured towards the stairs.

Taking a deep breath, not relishing the climb, Mike started up the steep staircase, Devitt close behind.

# # # # #

The dark sky was beginning to lighten above the treeline when Steve and Haseejian emerged from the barn. Their breaths were visible in the chilly air and Steve inhaled sharply.

"Let's get you into our car and I'll put the heater on," Haseejian said, leading the younger man towards the green Galaxie nearby.

There was a line of black-clad bikers, mostly male, on their knees, their hands cuffed behind their backs, in front of the large white house. Cops that Steve didn't recognize were standing over them.

As they got to the Galaxie, Dan Healey approached the car. "Steve!" he yelled, a grin splitting his face as he jogged up.

As the battered and bruised inspector lowered himself gingerly onto the back seat, he looked up at his colleague and smiled. "Hi, Dan."

Not sure what to say, the sergeant glanced around, frowning. "Where's Mike?"

Haseejian smiled at his partner. "He and Devitt are on their way up. There's a big… room, I guess you could call it… under the barn. Craig Steen's down there too. Alive."

Healey took a deep breath and let it out loudly. "Thank god."

Chuckling, Haseejian shut the back door then jogged around to the other side. "Dan," he called out as Healey started back towards the restrained bikers, "the keys?"

Healey fished them out of his pocket and tossed them over the roof to Haseejian, who got behind the wheel and started the car. He glanced into the back seat as he set the heater on full and started to get out. "It'll take a couple of minutes to warm up. Sorry. I'll try to find you a blanket." He slammed the door then headed across the parking lot towards the house.

Steve leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. For the first time in days, the knot of fear in his stomach began to unravel.

# # # # #

Letting out a little groan when he finally got to the top of the stairs, Mike waited for Devitt to step up onto the barn floor. "So what happened in the house? I'm assuming everything went okay?"

The grey-haired detective nodded and grinned. "Better than okay. We really got the drop on them. They didn't seem to be expecting anything."

"So what was that shot I heard?" Mike asked as they slowly crossed to the open door. They could see evidence that the sun was starting to coming up.

Before Devitt could answer, they heard the grinding of tires on gravel as a vehicle slid to a stop in the parking area. "The ambulance is here." He returned to the trapdoor and called down, "John, the ambulance just got here! I'll send them down!" Manley and Hathaway were looking after Craig Steen.

They stepped aside at the barn door as the two ambulance attendants rushed past them with a litter, the two CSP officers right behind. Devitt turned to Mike and smiled slightly. "I see Dan has everything under control," he chuckled.

Laughing, Mike shook his head. "Doesn't he always?" They left the barn, suddenly chilly in the still crisp morning air. Mike crossed his arms and shivered. "Geez, I forget how cold it gets up here this time of year." He looked around. "Where's Steve?"

Devitt pointed to the Galaxie and the inspector sitting in the back seat.

Mike turned to his colleague with raised eyebrows. "Wish me luck trying to get him to go back to Eureka in the ambulance." Devitt fell into step beside him as they walked to the car. "You didn't tell me what that shot was all about."

"Oh, yeah… one of the State cops saw a guy going for what he thought was a gun – turns out it was – and he put a shot into the ceiling of the living room to… dissuade him. Nobody got hurt."

"That's good."

They had reached the car and Mike opened the back door. Steve, wrapped in a blanket that Haseejian had managed to find in the house, had been sitting quietly with his eyes closed and his head back against the seat. He looked up at them slowly and grinned as best he could, under the circumstances. "Hey, Mike… Roy."

Chuckling, Mike grinned back. "Hey yourself. Ah, don't get too comfortable, you're going back to Eureka in that." He pointed at the ambulance and Steve slowly followed the finger. His eyebrows shot up and he started to shake his head. "Don't argue," Mike growled and the younger man shut his mouth with a snap. "I'm still your boss and that's an order. When they bring Steen up from down below, you'll get in with him."

Steve stared at the stern features glaring back at him. After a couple of seconds of the essentially one-sided standoff, he dropped his eyes and muttered, "Yes, sir."

With a curt nod, Mike took a step back and closed the door. He looked at Devitt and smiled.

Devitt raised his eyebrows. "Well, that wasn't hard."

"Well, isn't that what they keep telling you in football – the best offense is a good defense?"

"I think that's war, not football."

"Same difference," Mike laughed as they moved away from the car.

# # # # #

Five minutes later the stretcher carrying the conscious but agitated Steen was carried out of the barn to the waiting ambulance. Devitt opened the back door of the green Galaxie and Steve reluctantly climbed out, the blanket around his shoulders. With the lieutenant's hand on his elbow, he crossed slowly and stiffly to the open back doors of the ambulance.

Mike was already there, his eyes on the young man whose life they had just saved, worried about the two young men who were still missing and possibly gone forever. He smiled warmly at his partner as he approached with a frown.

"Are you coming with us?" Steve asked hopefully.

Still smiling, Mike shook his head. "There's not enough room," he explained, nodding at the ambulance. "But I promise, Roy and I'll be right behind you."

With an understanding nod, Steve allowed himself to be helped into the back of the ambulance, sitting on the gurney beside the one Steen was lying on. The driver stepped out, slamming the doors, then circled the large vehicle to get behind the wheel. Within seconds the lights and sirens sprang to life and the ambulance left the parking lot as quickly as it had arrived.

Devitt watched it go. He sighed in relief. It was turning out to be a better day than they could have hoped. He looked towards the house, at the other officers starting to place some of their arrestees in the backs of the patrol cars; he knew other cars were on their way. He began to move towards the green Galaxie when he heard Mike softly call his name.

He turned. His injured colleague, who had also been watching the departing ambulance, was facing him unsteadily. His mouth was slightly open, his eyes unfocused and he was swaying, his right hand over his stomach. Devitt glanced down and froze; in the brightening morning light he could see that, below the jacket, the top of Mike's pants were wet with fresh blood.

"Roy…" Mike breathed again.

As Devitt began to take a step towards him, Mike's legs gave out and he collapsed to the ground.


	20. Chapter 20

Devitt shot forward, catching Mike as he fell. He managed to grab the bigger man's left arm quickly enough to prevent his head from hitting the hard ground. "Dan! Norm!" he yelled over his shoulder as he struggled to pull the semi-conscious man into a sitting position.

He heard people sprinting towards them and Haseejian's startled, "What the hell happened?!"

The sergeants got to their colleagues at the same time, Healey kneeling quickly beside Devitt and helping to steady Mike's lolling head.

"Bring the car over here!" Devitt shouted and Haseejian bolted for the Galaxie. Within seconds it slid to a stop a couple of feet away. Haseejian got out and circled the sedan, opening the back door before bending to help the others pick Mike off the ground.

Devitt backed into the car, his arms under Mike's shoulders, pulling him onto the back seat. As the sergeants folded Mike's legs into the car, the lieutenant glanced up at Healey. "Dan, you stay here and keep things moving, and we'll meet you back at the hospital when you get finished here, okay?"

"Yeah," Healey nodded curtly as he slammed the door and stood back. As Haseejian started towards the driver's side, Healey opened the front passenger door, reached under the seat for the cherry, turned it on and slapped it on the roof. As he shut the door, Haseejian shifted into Drive and the car peeled out.

Healey took a step back, watching worriedly as the green sedan disappeared down the country road.

# # # # #

It was still very early in the morning and Haseejan saw no need to turn the siren on; as long as the traffic was sparse, the flashing red light was all they needed right now. With an anxious scowl, he readjusted the rearview mirror so he could see into the backseat.

Devitt had backed himself into the corner, leaning halfway against both the door and the seat; Mike was lying against him, his head on Devitt's shoulder. His eyes were still closed. Devitt reached up and laid the back of his fingers against Mike's cheek; it was cool and clammy.

Haseejian's eyes briefly met Devitt's in the mirror; neither said a word. The sergeant gritted his teeth in frustration and worry. The road was pot-holed and uneven, and he knew Mike would be feeling every jounce of the car. The pain had to be overwhelming but there was nothing he could do about it. Time was not their friend right now.

Devitt tried to watch the trees speeding by, trying not to think, trying not to stare at the wet blood soaking his colleague's clothes. He felt Mike stir slightly and saw the blue eyes open a slit; Mike groaned and Devitt briefly and gently tightened his hold. "Easy… easy… you're in the car. We're on our way to the hospital…"

Mike moaned again. "Roy…" he breathed softly, and Devitt strained to put his ear closer to his friend's mouth. "Roy… we found Steve in time, didn't we…?"

Devitt felt his throat tighten and he lifted his head a little. He could see that Mike was smiling slightly and he smiled too. "We sure did. And I'm sure glad you got out of the car," he whispered and he felt Mike chuckle.

# # # # #

"Here," Haseejian said quietly, holding out the cardboard cup of steaming coffee. "Have you heard anything yet?"

Taking the cup with a grateful nod, Devitt sighed heavily. "Not yet."

They were standing at the far end of the waiting room, stares directed down the corridor at the double set of glass doors. Devitt had accompanied their unconscious colleague after he'd been lifted from the car, laid on a gurney and raced into the Emergency Room. He had stood by helplessly while Mike had been placed on oxygen, an IV had been started and his clothes cut off. He'd been appalled at the amount of blood that had soaked into his friend's shirt and pants, catching a glimpse of the still bleeding abdominal wounds before a pressure dressing was applied.

Doctor Cavanagh appeared and within seconds had ordered the patient wheeled to the OR. With an angry and dismissive glare in Devitt's direction, the surgeon followed the gurney as it disappeared through the far door. With a last look at the bloody, discarded clothes on the emergency room floor, Devitt found his distracted way to the waiting room.

"He, ah, he was bleeding a lot," he said quietly, feeling the sergeant's eyes boring into the side of his head.

"He didn't say anything when you found him in the barn?"

Devitt shook his head. "You know Mike… I'm sure he didn't want to worry Steve…"

His head came up quickly. "Steve! Shit… we better go find him."

"Look, ah, why don't you go find Steve and I'll stay here… in case…" Haseejian shrugged slightly.

Devitt nodded slowly. "Yeah… yeah, you're right… I'll, ah, I'll check on Steen too." He smiled gratefully, holding up the coffee. "Ah… thanks… " Finding no other words, he looked around, locating the nurse's station then moving almost absentmindedly in that direction.

# # # # #

Devitt found the thin young inspector dressed in a light blue hospital gown and sitting on an examination table in a room in Emergency, looking worse for wear. His dirty hair was matted with dried blood above his right ear, his hooded eyes were bloodshot, and under the significant stubble a bruised and swollen jaw could be seen. His wrists had already been bandaged. He was slumped slightly forward and to the right, favouring his side it seemed to the older detective.

Despite his appearance, Steve managed a warm smile when Devitt stepped into the room and closed the door. "Hey, Roy…"

Devitt smiled. "How are you feeling?"

Steve snorted softly. "I've been better." He gasped slightly as he tried to straighten up.

"Has someone been in to see you yet?"

"Yeah. They're gonna take me into X-ray to check out my ribs and my jaw, and they're gonna stitch up my head. I think they're talking about keeping me here too." He didn't sound happy about that. "Hey, ah, how's Craig?"

Devitt shook his head slightly, maintaining the institutional smile. "I haven't had a chance to see him yet. I'll do that after I finish here." He spotted a stool in the corner, dragged it closer and sat. "Look, ah, I know we're gonna have to interview you officially, but just between us, how much to you remember about that night at the bar?"

Steve shook his head slowly with a facial shrug. "Not much. I mean, after all that shit got started when that biker deliberately walked into Mike, I… I think I remember standing up and yelling something and then someone punched me in the stomach… a couple of times…" He shook his head again, his eyes unfocusing. "Nothing after that… not until I woke up in that… that barn. I was already tied to the wall." He looked up at Devitt and frowned. "How long was I there?"

"Three days," Devitt said, eyebrows raised.

Steve exhaled loudly. "Geez, I didn't know it was that long." He paused then asked quietly. "What, ah… what did they want us for, me and Craig? Do you know?"

"You weren't told?"

"They barely spoke to us," the younger man explained, shaking his head.

Devitt wanted to ask more, and tell him more, but knew he had to wait until Steve could make a formal statement; everything needed to be beyond reproach if they had any chance of getting convictions for everyone involved with the drug and human trafficking.

"Where's Mike?"

The question pierced the lieutenant's brief reverie. "What?"

"Mike. He said you were coming here together. Where is he?"

Devitt realized the question was not being asked casually; he knew Steve was suspicious of his partner's absence.

"Oh, ah, he –"

The door was pushed open and a young resident entered the room in a rush, a clipboard in his hand. He pulled up short, surprised. "Oh, sorry, didn't know you had a visitor." He turned to Devitt and held out his right hand. "Doctor Stanfield."

The gray-haired detective shook the proffered hand. "Lieutenant Devitt… I'm, ah, I'm one of his bosses." He smiled and nodded towards the inspector.

"Oh… good to meet you." Stanfield looked briefly at Steve but addressed Devitt. "Well, he's battered and bruised and a little dehydrated but he's gonna be okay. We'll see to that." He faced Steve. "Inspector Keller, you ready to hop into a wheelchair for me and I'll take you to X-ray?"

Steve, who had been watching Devitt with a frown, glanced at the doctor and nodded. "Sure." He began to slowly and carefully slide off the examination table as Stanfield returned to the door, opened it and wrestled a wheelchair into the room. Continuing to stare at the lieutenant, Steve got into the chair.

Devitt held the door open as Stanfield pushed the wheelchair out into the corridor, trying to avoid the penetrating green eyes. If anything, he knew that Steve was even more concerned. "I'll, ah, I'll see you when they're finished with you," Devitt called out feebly as the wheelchair disappeared around a corner.

With a frustrated sigh, he made his way to the nurse's station and inquired about Craig Steen.

# # # # #

"So how's the Steen boy?" Haseejian asked as Devitt approached him in the waiting room.

Shrugging, Devitt lowered himself onto the empty chair beside the homicide sergeant. "I don't know, they're still examining him. And Steve's in X-ray; they're taking shots of his jaw and his ribs. But he's doing okay, considering."

"Did he ask about Mike?"

Devitt smiled suddenly; obviously the closeness of the unconventional partnership wasn't lost on their colleagues. It hadn't taken long for a conspicuously strong bond to develop between the affable lieutenant and the charismatic assistant inspector after they had become a team. "Yeah. Luckily the doctor came in and unintentionally bailed me out, but not for long, I don't think. Any news here?"

Haseejian shook his head regretfully.

"Look, ah, I can handle things here. I think you should maybe head back to the Crockers, give Dan and the guys a hand. It's a lot of people to get processed and the sooner we get started…"

The sergeant stared at Devitt silently for several seconds then nodded. "Sure… sure…" He began to stand. "Ah, but you won't have a car…"

Devitt nodded. "I know, but I don't think I'm gonna be going anywhere for awhile."

"Right. Listen, ah, when I get a chance, I'll get Dan to drive me into Colville and we can pick up the other car. They should have the ignition lock replaced by now." Haseejian paused then asked semi-seriously. "Do you think Steve still has the keys in his pocket?"

As worried and distracted as he was, Devitt chuckled. "You want to ask him?"

Haseejian smiled warmly and shook his head. "Naw. Besides, we've already had the ignition replaced so it's kind of a moot point right now."

Devitt nodded with a soft, appreciative smile. Haseejian always had a way of injecting a little lightheartedness into the worst of situations; it was a way of coping his colleagues sometimes wanted and needed.

The sergeant sighed heavily, the playful moment over. "Okay, well, if you hear anything…"

"I'll get in touch with you one way or another," Devitt confirmed as Haseejian nodded, turning to walk away, patting his pocket to make sure he had his own keys as he disappeared around a corner.

Devitt put the back of his head against the wall, closed his eyes and released a deeply-held breath.

# # # # #

He wasn't sure how much time had passed before he heard and felt someone drop heavily into the chair beside him. Devitt tilted his head down and opened his eyes to find Dr. Cavanagh staring at him expressionlessly.

"What the hell happened?" the surgeon asked gruffly.

Startled, Devitt sat up a little straighter. "You mean with Mike?" he asked, trying to keep the guilt from his tone.

"Who else?" Cavanagh almost spat out. "Of course, Mike. I thought you told me you made him promise he would stay in the car if he went with you?"

Devitt shrugged uncomfortably. "I did… and he didn't…" He cleared his throat. "But if it makes any difference, he found his partner and one of the young men who had been kidnapped."

Cavanagh seemed to be taken slightly aback. "He did?"

"He did. And I think he, ah, he may have hurt himself trying to get to them… they were being held captive in a… in a barn…" Devitt could see that the surgeon was reevalutating the situation.

The doctor looked down and swallowed heavily. When he looked back up there was a slight smile on his lips. "That's, ah… that's very good news. Well done." He took a deep breath and sat up a little straighter. "Look, ah, I know you've been worried but you don't have to be. He's going to be fine. Yes, he ruptured a good number of the stitches but, luckily, none of them were too deep. And none of the ones in his intestines; they were all skin and muscle sutures. They bled a hell of a lot, as you probably saw, but he didn't do any permanent damage. He's going to be fine."

Devitt closed his eyes and released a relieved sigh. "Thank you," he whispered.

"So anyway, for his comfort we're going to keep him sedated until tomorrow morning, but he should be discharged in three or four days and you can take him back to that beautiful city of yours. How does that sound?"

With a soft chuckle and gentle shake of his head, Devitt smiled. "It sounds like some things are finally going our way in this case, and that means a lot."


	21. Chapter 21

Devitt pushed the door open and stepped quietly into the private room, letting it close softly behind him. A white gauze bandage wrapped around his head, Steve Keller was lying quietly on the partially raised bed, his eyes closed.

Suddenly uncertain, Devitt reached for the door handle again and began to pull it open.

"Hey," Steve's soft voice reached his ears. "Roy… it's okay, I'm awake. Come on in."

The older man smiled warmly as he approached the bed. He gestured with his head. "So, ah, what's the verdict?"

Steve reached for the hand control and raised the bed so he was sitting up a little higher. "Well, my jaw is just badly bruised, which is good news, but I do have three cracked ribs and they put six stitches in my head. But I don't have a concussion and, other than a few deep bruises, no internal injuries. I guess I got off lightly."

"Well, that's good news." Devitt's smile got a little wider but in the ensuing silence he glanced away, guiltily Steve thought, and swallowed nervously, clearing his throat.

Steve frowned. "Is there something you want to tell me?" he asked tentatively, almost apprehensively. Devitt looked at him, brow furrowed, and inhaled deeply. "What… is it something about Mike?"

The lieutenant knew Steve was still confused and concerned as to why his partner hadn't shown up to see him in the hospital.

"He _was_ stabbed, wasn't he?" It was more a statement than a question. Devitt nodded slowly and reluctantly. "And he _is_ here, isn't he? They've admitted him. Am I right?"

Devitt cleared his throat and shook his head. "They didn't have to admit him, he already has a room," he said lightly then realized the tone was inappropriate, "but he's fine, he's doing all right…. Look, uh, he was brought here the night of your bar fight – that's why we're all up here, Norm and Dan and me - and he was here until this morning, when he went with us to the Crocker ranch… to look for you… He was supposed to stay in the car…"

Steve was breathing heavily through his nose, staring at the lieutenant angrily, but Devitt wasn't sure if the fury was directed at him or at Mike. "How bad?" he asked curtly.

The lieutenant cocked his head. "What do you mean…?" he asked hesitantly, frowning.

"When they brought him in after the bar fight… how badly was he hurt?"

"Oh, he, ah… the right side of his face was badly bruised and his eye was swollen shut… and, ah, he had several perforations in his belly… from a beer bottle." Devitt gestured vaguely at his own stomach. "There were pieces of glass in his, ah, intestines and a lot of damage to the abdominal muscles, of course… but they got everything out and sewed him up and he was doing great, the swelling around his eye is almost gone…"

"What happened today?"

Devitt's eyes widened slightly and he shrugged in frustration. "You saw him… he was the one that found the trapdoor down to that… dungeon you were being held in… He, ah… he overdid it, I guess, and ruptured some of the stitches and started bleeding again. But like I told you, he's fine. They've sewn him up again and now he's resting. You'll be able to see him tomorrow morning."

Steve was staring at him as if not quite believing what he was being told. "Why can't I see him now?"

"Well," Devitt began slowly, "you're here… and he's… there…" He knew it wasn't a good answer and he shifted uncomfortably. Under a withering glare, he relented. "They're keeping him sedated until tomorrow morning so he can get some sleep… he's, ah… he didn't get much rest while you were… you know…"

Steve's stare finally softened and he looked down, as if not knowing quite how to react.

Devitt waited. When no response was forthcoming, he cleared his throat slightly. "Listen, uh," he nodded over his shoulder towards the door, "they told me you can eat… and I've got nothing to do right now. You, ah, you want me to go out and get you something to eat… something's that not hospital food?"

Finally Steve looked up, but his expression was wooden, distracted. He looked at Devitt for several seconds without moving then nodded slowly. "Yeah, sure…"

Devitt smiled. "Great. Ah, so what do you want?"

Still unresponsive, Steve shrugged slightly. "I don't know… maybe some pasta…"

Nodding and smiling encouragingly, Devitt took a step towards the door. "I'll ask around and see if any of the staff here can recommend a place nearby. I'll be back as soon as I can." Moving a little faster than was warranted, he opened the door quickly and stepped out into the corridor.

Steve needed time, he knew, to process what he had just learned; hopefully by the time he returned, the young man would have begun to work through the obvious worry and guilt in which he seemed to be mired.

# # # # #

"So, do you guys want to come with us to arrest Lassiter?" Sheriff Manley asked, unable to mask his grin.

Haseejian looked up from the paperwork he was reading and laughed. "You're enjoying this too much, I think."

"Yes, I am," Manley said with a deep, satisfied chuckle. "I've been waiting for this day for a long time, probably ever since I started to hear the rumors he was a dirty cop. So, yes, I am enjoying this."

Healey got up from the desk he was sitting on and slapped the sheriff on the shoulder. "John, nothing would please us better, believe me, but we really need to check on our guys…"

Sobering, Manley nodded. "Yeah, I get ya. Look, ah, you'll let us know what's going on as soon as you can, okay?"

"You bet."

"Everybody ready?!" Chief Ryan almost shouted as he strode into the Crocker Police Department bullpen, clapping and rubbing his hands together in a gesture so reminiscent of their hospitalized colleague that both SFPD sergeants smiled. "I just got confirmation that Lassiter is at home; we've got people sitting on him, so he's not going anywhere. This'll be like shooting fish in a barrel."

The others nodded. None of them had seen the Eureka chief so animated. It seemed the almost flawless and successful raid on the Crocker ranch that morning was more than enough to fuel his almost contagious optimism.

Haseejian explained what he and his partner were going to do and Ryan concurred. Wishing them well, they headed out on their separate tasks. The long morning was turning into a long day.

# # # # #

Devitt pushed the heavy wooden door open slowly, a large paper bag in one hand, a tray with two Styrofoam cups in the other. "Dinner – lunch – whatever - is served," he chuckled as he stepped into the empty room and stopped short. Frowning, he glanced towards the bathroom but the door was open and the small room was empty.

He backed out into the corridor and let the door close. It was a short walk to the nurse's station and he waited till its one occupant got off the phone.

"Hi," he said with a smile, "do you have any idea where Steve Keller is… Room 332?"

She frowned momentarily then grinned. "Oh, the cop? Yes, he asked for a wheelchair and took himself to another floor, I think. He said he wanted to visit someone."

Devitt's smile wavered slightly then came back. "Ah, okay, great, thanks. I have his… dinner," he said vaguely, raising his hands slightly to emphasize his point. "Lasagna."

"You want to leave that here until he comes back? We have a stove in the nurses lounge and we can keep it warm if you like?"

Hesitating only briefly, Devitt nodded. "Sure, thanks. That's perfect. But I'd like to track him down. Can I just leave it with you?"

"Sure," she said with a chuckle, reaching for the bag and the tray.

"Great," he grinned, handing them over, "I'll be back as soon as I can."

# # # # #

He opened the door quietly, stepping silently into the room. Under a beige and white flannelette blanket, Mike was sleeping soundly in a supine position between the raised sidebars of the hospital bed, an IV line in his left arm and an oxygen cannula under his nose.

Steve was sitting in the wheelchair close to the bed, his back to the door. He didn't move when he heard the door open and close. Devitt saw him raise his right arm, running the back of his hand against his cheeks under his eyes. He heard a soft, almost embarrassed sniff.

The lieutenant waited, but when there was still no sign that the younger man was going to turn or acknowledge his presence in any way, he offered, quietly and lightly, "I told you he was okay."

Steve still didn't move, as if he hadn't heard; Devitt knew he had. Shuffling uncomfortably, the lieutenant cleared his throat slightly, "Ah, I got you something to eat. It's in your room." He watched as Steve nodded slowly, finally responding. Heartened, he continued, "Come on, let's head back down there, okay?" He turned to the door and began to open it. A soft voice stopped him.

"Roy, can I tell you something?" Steve's request was offered so quietly that Devitt took a step further into the room to make sure he could hear.

"Sure," he said equally softly, suddenly knowing that the poised and extraordinarily likable young man was in an emotional quandary that needed to be addressed.

Steve took a deep breath; he continued to stare at his injured partner in the bed. When he finally began to talk, his voice was soft and faraway.

"I, ah, I don't know how much you know about my background… it doesn't really matter," he said with a slight, self-deprecating chuckle. "I'm from Modesto… and you really can't be more small town than that in California. My Dad was in the army… a career soldier. He was posted overseas a lot. I didn't really know him… but maybe that was for the best… We really didn't see eye to eye on a lot of things… especially the war…"

He stopped talking and Devitt watched him raise his right hand again to take another swipe at this eyes. He could feel his own throat tighten and he bit his bottom lip.

"I was too… liberal for my Dad, I guess. He even called me a 'Commie pinko' once, when I had the nerve to join the voter registration marches in Selma. When I went to Berkeley, he pretty well disowned me."

He paused, and Devitt could see him shudder before he seemed to collect himself, determined to continue.

"My Mom wasn't any help. I mean, she meant well but their marriage… there was no love lost there. She found solace in the bottle, I guess. Half the time I don't think she even knew I was there.

"I really don't know why I wanted to become a cop. I went to Berkeley to study law, but I dropped my major for criminology. I'm not really sure why. It could've been I just wanted to piss off my Dad… I don't know…

"But out of the blue it just seemed right, you know?… it seemed like all of a sudden, I was where I was supposed to be… the Academy, patrol, and then when I went to Vice… it seemed a perfect fit… It felt like I belonged there somehow… I was happy, I was contributing….

"And then I got the word… from Homicide. Lieutenant Stone was looking for a new partner… I really didn't think I had a chance so I didn't give it much thought." He chuckled dryly. "I was shocked when I got his call… I really was. And then when he picked me…" He stopped talking, inhaling with a heartbreaking gasp.

Devitt held his breath.

"He didn't care about where I came from or what my politics were… or who my father was… he cared about how I did my job and how I treated the victims and the suspects… He's never made me feel like I wasn't part of the team… or that I wasn't his partner… I've learned so much from him already… and it hasn't all been about becoming a better cop…"

Steve exhaled loudly. "He risked his life for me today… He could have died today…" His voice was unsteady, and Devitt could hear the strangled breaths. Steve raised his hand to his eyes again. "No one's ever cared for me that much before…" His voice grew increasingly faint and Devitt could hear his unsuccessful struggle for composure.

"No one has ever loved me like he loves me… Never…"


	22. Chapter 22

"How are they doing?... Roy?... Hellooo…" Haseejian's singsong voice finally cut through the torpor and the gray-haired lieutenant looked up distractedly with a deep frown.

The sergeant's smile disappeared as he dropped heavily into the adjacent chair. "What happened? Are they okay?" There was a sudden tinge of fear in his voice and he glanced up at his partner standing over them. Healey's face reflected his own unanticipated concern.

Devitt seemed to shake himself back to the moment. "Oh, ah, no no, they're fine, both of them, really." He tried a slight smile. "Sorry, I was, ah, I was just thinking about something else." His colleagues continued to stare at him, frowning. His smile got wider. "Honest to god, fellas, they're both fine, I promise. You can go see them for yourself, if you want."

With another glance at Healey, Haseejian said slowly, "Okay…"

Taking a quick look around the almost deserted waiting room, Devitt leaned forward, determined to change the tone of the uncomfortable conversation. "So what's happening with you guys? What happened, ah, back at the ranch?" he finished with an ironic chuckle that the others shared.

Healey snagged an empty nearby chair, pulled it closer and sat. "Well, turns out our early morning raid was perfectly timed. Nobody seems to have had any idea we were coming, let alone we were onto them, and we seemed to have… cut the head off the snake, so to speak."

Devitt looked from one sergeant to the other. "You mean whoever was running the whole operation was there, in the house?"

Haseejian nodded with a big smile. "Well, from what Manley and Ryan have figured out so far, the titular heads, yeah. They've still got a lot of digging to do – I think the Humboldt County District Attorney's office is going to be up to their eyeballs in this case for years – but we arrested two of the Crocker daughters and their husbands, who share that ranch house, by the way – it's a big house - and who seem to be the hands-on bosses of the heroin operation."

"The other bunch we corralled were members of the biker gang who were going to be heading out with the boats and trucks today to pick up the H coming in on that boat."

"Oh, which, by the way –" Haseejian interrupted almost excitedly, "the Coast Guard has spotted but it's still out in international waters. They're hoping nobody has the ability to get in touch with them – we found a ship-to-shore radio in the ranch house – and they're just gonna wait till they cross into our space tonight and then nab 'em."

"How far out is that again, the international waters?" Devitt asked with a frown.

Healey bobbled his head. "About fourteen miles."

"So anyway," Haseejian continued, "they were heading off to arrest Sheriff Lassiter when we left, and Ryan's working with the D.A. to get warrants for the rest of the Crocker family."

"Aren't they worried about them fleeing the jurisdiction?"

"Yeah, they thought of that, but from what we heard, it's a close family and they just wouldn't do that kinda thing. Besides, they've got enough money to get themselves the best lawyers in the state… probably the entire country… and fight this tooth and nail."

"When we left, Ryan was talking about getting in touch with Interpol, and they were arranging for one of those new drug sniffing dogs to come in and figure out exactly where they were storing the heroin. They have a dog in Vegas, of all places. We gotta get us one of those dogs," Healey finished quietly, and his partner shot him a double take.

"You're not in Narcotics anymore; what do you need a dog for?"

Healey turned slowly to the Armenian sergeant with a scowl; Devitt chuckled at Haseejian's innocuous expression.

"Five'll get you ten it was in that…dungeon or whatever it was they were holding Steve and that Steen kid in?" the lieutenant offered, trying to get the conversation back on track.

"Yeah," Healey said quickly, "so how's the kid doing? Do you know?"

Devitt shook his head sadly. "Not yet. He's, ah, he's pretty messed up, mentally, from what I've been told. They've given him something to calm him down so they can examine him… that's the last I heard."

"Has his family been notified yet?" Haseejian asked with a frown.

Shrugging, Devitt shook his head again. "I don't know… I've, ah, I've been a little tied up with Mike and Steve… I guess maybe Sheriff Manley should be the one to do the notification." He exhaled loudly. "At least it'll be good news for a change."

"Yeah, for that family…" Healey said quietly. "We still don't have any idea about those other young guys, do we?"

"I don't even want to think about it," Haseejian sighed, shaking his head. "We were lucky we got there when we did… it coulda been Steve…"

The three detectives looked at each other soberly, nodding.

Devitt sat back and almost smiled. "Listen, ah, Steve and I just finished eating and I think he might still be awake. Why don't you guys go in and see him? I'm sure he'd love to see you."

The sergeants brightened. "Yeah," Healey said with a curt nod, starting to stand. "What room is he in?"

Devitt pointed down the corridor to the right. "332."

"Where's Mike?" Haseejian asked as he got to his feet.

"He's on another floor. They want to keep a close eye on him overnight; he's going to be under till tomorrow morning. But, as bad as it looked this morning, he's okay," the lieutenant assured them again. As the sergeants began to walk away, he stopped them. "Listen, fellas… fantastic job this morning and… all week really. You guys have done a helluva job up here and nobody here is gonna forget it, believe me, especially the Steen family."

Both sergeants smiled grimly, remembering the young men who were still missing.

"Thanks, Roy," Healey answered for them both. "Appreciate that."

Devitt smiled back, but it wasn't reflected in his eyes. "Go see Steve," he urged quietly.

# # # # #

"Yeah, so when you're feeling better – maybe tomorrow? – we want to bring you back to the Crocker ranch and you can talk us through what you remember. How does that sound?" Haseejian was sitting on the end of Steve's bed, Healey perched on a tall stool nearby.

They had been greatly relieved to see the young inspector looking as well as he did when they had knocked softly on the door and entered on his invitation. They were pretty sure he was still unaware of how close he had come to disappearing from their lives, and his own, forever, so they were choosing their words carefully. That information sharing would need to come from Devitt, or possibly his own partner at some future appropriate time.

"Yeah," Steve agreed, nodding, "I think they're only keeping me in till tomorrow morning anyway, so… yeah, that sounds good." He frowned slightly. "Does someone have my clothes?"

"You mean from the motel?" Healey asked and the younger man nodded. "Oh, ah, yeah, your suitcase is still there. Norm and I took over the rooms. I'll bring it first thing tomorrow morning. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, that'll work. Ah, listen, have you guys heard about Craig Steen? Roy didn't know anything."

Haseejian shook his head. "No, we just know what Roy told us. I guess the kid is having a rough time."

Steve exhaled heavily and looked down. "I'm not surprised. He was there a lot longer than me, but…" He cocked his head slightly as he strove to remember details. "They seemed to be going pretty easy on him… I mean, I was handled kinda rough a few times, and I was tied up… but they never did anything like that to him. He was in that cell so he could move around, and they brought him regular meals and all that. But they didn't say anything to him, just like they didn't say much to me." He looked up at his colleagues. "Do you have any idea what they wanted him for?"

The sergeants resisted the urge to look at each other. Haseejian shifted position on the bed slightly. "We've heard a couple of theories but nobody's confirmed anything yet so we want to make sure we get your statement first before we share anything, okay?"

Steve knew it was protocol, of course, but something suspicious twigged in the back of his mind. He decided to let it pass.

Haseejian glanced at Healey. "Look, ah, we better get out of here and let you get some rest. We're gonna head back to Colville and see what's been happening. So we'll stop by here sometime tomorrow morning and pick you up, okay?"

Smiling warmly, Steve nodded. "Ah, just one thing, if it's okay. They're keeping Mike sedated overnight so he can, you know… get some sleep," he paused and took a deep breath "and I'd kinda like to be there when he wakes up in the morning. Can, ah, can we go to Crocker after that? I'd just like to talk to him for a few minutes after he wakes up…"

Healey looked at his partner and grinned. "That's not a problem at all. As a matter of fact, I'd like to see him too."

"Yeah," Haseejian chimed in, "that'd be great." He got up from the bed and slapped the young man's leg lightly. "You get a good night's sleep and we'll see you in the morning, okay?"

Steve nodded.

Healey was staring at him, his smile quickly disappearing. "I'm glad we got you back," he said quietly with a bit more gravity than he had intended and he tried to cover it with another smile and a wink. "See you in the morning," he said loudly as he joined Haseejian at the door and they exited quickly.

Steve continued to stare at the door long after it closed. Something was being withheld from him, he was absolutely sure now; the trouble was, he couldn't figure out what it could be. He knew Mike was going to be all right, he had seen so himself.

He let himself sink deeper into the pillows, hoping that his racing mind would eventually allow him to get some much-needed sleep.

# # # # #

"Well, good morning…"

The bright deep voice reached his ears before he even had time to open his eyes. When he finally managed to get his lids to cooperate, Doctor Cavanagh was leaning over him with a big, toothy grin. "How do you feel?"

Mike blinked a few times, running his tongue over his lips as he struggled to focus. "Woozy…" he managed to get out softly.

"That's to be expected. It'll wear off soon. Other than that, how do you feel? Any pain in your belly?"

The lieutenant's eyes glazed over momentarily as he took stock of his body. He shook his head slightly. "I feel pressure but no pain…"

Cavanagh nodded. "That'll be the stitches… that's normal, and it's good. Anything else?"

Mike shook his head slightly.

"Excellent. Okay, well, you were lucky, by the way. Your little… adventure yesterday could've ended a lot worse. As it is, you're not going to be going anywhere for the next several days if I have to tie you to the bed, just so you know." Cavanagh smiled slightly but something in his tone told Mike that the threat held merit. He didn't even try to object. "A nurse will be in shortly to help you sit up a bit and arrange for your breakfast. How does that sound?"

Mike managed a small smile. "That sounds good."

"Okay." Cavanagh grinned, patting his patient on the arm before he turned and headed to the door. "Oh, ah, someone wants to see you. You up for a visitor right now?"

Mike nodded, closing his eyes. "Sure."

Cavanagh opened the door and took a step back. Steve, dressed in his street clothes, his head still bandaged and moving slowly and carefully, walked haltingly into the room. As the door closed softly behind the exiting doctor, he leaned over the bed.

Sensing a presence, Mike opened his eyes.


	23. Chapter 23

They both smiled at the same time, Steve with warmth, Mike with heartfelt surprise and delight. It was the younger man who found his voice first. "Hey, how are you feeling?"

Mike swallowed heavily before he could speak. "Okay… I'm feeling good… I think." He chuckled. "I don't really know. All I've done so far is open my eyes." He felt Steve's hand on his arm and a gentle squeeze. "The doc said I was doing okay so I'll take his word for it." His eyes narrowed and his smile wavered. "How are you doing?"

Steve shrugged slightly. "I'm a little battered and bruised but I'm okay."

Mike lifted his chin slightly, his eyes drifting to the bandage around his partner's head. "You got stitches?"

"Yeah. Six."

"Ouch."

"Yeah. Even worse than that, they had to shave some of my hair." He pointed to the side of his head, nodding with exaggerated self-pity.

"Oooo," Mike continued the badinage, "well, you do know that hair grows back, right? I think you'll survive." He had noticed the bandage around Steve's wrist and his grin wavered.

The younger man had caught the look; he dropped his hand below the level of the bed. "I'm okay," he offered before Mike could ask. "I won't be playing tennis anytime soon…" he added with a laugh, "if I played it at all…"

Mike carefully reached out to playfully swat at him, chuckling. "Well, I can tell you I won't be playing pool again anytime soon. I never knew it'd become a contact sport."

"Only in Crocker, I think. But geez, who'da thought we'd get ourselves into a bar fight, hunh? But, in hindsight, it was serendipitous, wouldn't you say?"

Mike brow furrowed and he looked confused. "Seren-… what?"

Staring bemusedly, Steve started to explain. "It means when something happens by –"

"Happy accident. Yeah, I know," Mike finished with a wicked grin.

Rolling his eyes, Steve glanced at the ceiling, snickering and shaking his head, then looked back at his grinning partner. "When am I gonna learn…?" he asked himself with a quiet chuckle.

Mike began to laugh then stopped himself, his right hand going quickly to his stomach. He caught his breath and held it for a couple of uncomfortable seconds. Steve watched worriedly until his partner started to relax and breathe again.

Knowing his young friend would be worried, Mike opened one eye and groaned theatrically. "Well, I won't be doing that again for awhile."

Steve was still staring with consternation when the door opened and a nurse suddenly appeared at his elbow. "Good morning, Lieutenant," the young brunette smiled at her patient, "I'm Christine, but you can call me Chris." She glanced up at Steve, her eyes widening slightly as she quickly took in the handsome young man; it was a look not lost on his partner and Mike found himself trying to suppress a smirk.

"Good morning, Chris," Mike said formally. He nodded towards his visitor. "This is Steve, he's my partner." He was tempted to make the introduction a little more uncomfortable but decided Steve had had enough adversity the past few days and relented.

"Hi, Steve," she said cheerfully, eyeing him once more before turning her full attention back to her patient. "Lieutenant – "

"Call me Mike, please," he corrected her gently and she nodded with a grin.

"All right, Mike, how about we get you sitting up a little and then you can let me know what you'd like for breakfast?" She leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially, "Your options are pretty limited but we can pretend." With a charming giggle, she leaned back and reached for the hand control, pushing the button. The bed started to rise. "Tell me when you think you're high enough and you're still comfortable, okay?"

"You got it," Mike replied as he slowly rose above the sidebars of the tall bed. He met Steve's stare; he knew the younger man was more worried than he was letting on and he also knew he somehow had to assure him that he was fine and on the mend. "Have you had breakfast yet?" he asked with a gentle smile.

Steve, who had absent-mindedly been watching the bed, frowned slightly. "What?"

Mike swallowed a bigger smile. "Have you had breakfast yet?"

"Oh, ah, yeah, yeah… they, ah, they gave me coffee and a Danish before they released me." He looked at Mike as the bed stopped moving, not even noticing his partner's nod to the nurse. "Listen, ah," he said suddenly, taking a step back, "Dan and Norm are waiting for me. They're taking me back to Crocker. They want to see if it triggers anything for me that can help with the indictments."

Trying to mask the sudden apprehension from showing on his face, Mike raised his eyebrows. "Oh… are they here?"

"Dan and Norm?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, they're waiting in the corridor. What… you want them to come in?"

"I'd love to see them."

"Sure," Steve said with a facial shrug as he turned towards the door.

Mike looked at the nurse. "I'll come back," she mouthed to him before she followed Steve to the door, and he nodded. As Steve opened the door, she slipped past him quickly; he barely registered her. He took a step into the corridor and turned to the right. "Norm?" He gestured with his head.

"Hey, you're lookin' a helluva lot better," Haseejian chuckled as the two sergeants followed the inspector into the room and approached the bed. Steve lingered near the door.

Mike grinned and nodded. "Yeah, ah, sorry about that yesterday… overdid did it a bit, I guess."

"More than a bit," Healey offered with a chuckle. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore," Mike admitted with a slight shrug, "but good, thanks. So, ah, things turned out okay yesterday, I take it?"

Haseejian laughed dryly. "Better than okay, we got most of the bastards and we got word this morning the Coast Guard got the –"

Healey cleared his throat loudly and Haseejian stopped, his eyes darting to his partner. Healey's eyes widened and he shifted them quickly in Steve's direction. Haseejian closed his eyes guiltily then looked at Mike, who was staring at him passively; the Armenian sergeant knew that look. It was meant for the recipient to rethink what they were saying and perhaps try another tack; it almost always worked.

Healey glanced over his shoulder at their young colleague but Steve showed no sign that he had heard the verbal slip.

"So you arrested everybody at the ranch?" Mike asked, his voice a little louder than necessary and Haseejian cleared his throat.

"Ah, yeah… boy, that ended up being a lot of paperwork, and I only had to do some of it. Dan here got the short end of the stick in that department."

"Yeah, but we were lucky – the warrants Ryan got for us covered everything. The Crockers had lawyers at the station almost before we got there but they turned out to be pretty ineffectual. It'll be another story, I'm sure, when this all finally gets to court."

"Good, good. So, ah, you're taking Steve back to the ranch this morning?" The question sounded casual but Mike's look and the care with which he enunciated every word alerted both his longtime subordinates that they needed to tread lightly.

Healey nodded as he replied, "Yeah, we just want to see if we can jog his memory a little and he can remember something that'll help us pin more kidnapping charges on the Crockers as well."

"That sounds like a great idea. Well, don't let me delay you. Drop in and visit when you get back, okay? I won't be going anywhere."

Healey smirked. "You sure about that?"

Mike chuckled. "My doctor threatened to tie me to the bed."

"Smart man," Haseejian said with a grin, patting the lieutenant's arm affectionately before they headed to the door.

Mike's eyes met his partner's. "I'll see you later," he said matter-of-factly.

Steve, who had been waiting distractedly, nodded softly. His smile disappeared as he stared at the bed again, his look somewhat sad and faraway. This was the first time since their partnership had begun that Mike had been hospitalized and it was disturbing him more than he realized. He didn't notice as the two sergeants pushed past him and opened the door.

"Hey, kid," Haseejian's gruff voice finally penetrated his reverie, "you coming?"

Healey glared at his partner as the younger man turned without expression and followed them through the door, Mike's worried eyes following his exit. Haseejian looked at his partner and Healey relaxed; the Armenian sergeant's soft smile told him that he, too, was well aware of their young colleague's melancholia.

Steve Keller was in good hands, whatever lay ahead.

# # # # #

The green Galaxie turned off the two-lane blacktop into the large parking area in front of the huge white ranch house. The entire area was crawling with police vehicles of every description and every jurisdiction, it seemed, and uniformed and plainclothes personnel were everywhere.

Healey glanced across the front seat as he swung the sedan into a free spot and braked. Steve was staring through the front windshield, his expression unreadable. The sergeant glanced into the rearview mirror and met his partner's stare; they both shrugged almost imperceptibly.

Steve glanced around then looked at Healey and shook his head. "Nothing," he said quietly as the sergeant turned off the engine. They opened their doors and got out. It was an overcast, chilly day, and all three buttoned or zippered their jackets as they crossed the parking lot towards the house. Steve glanced at the barn but said nothing.

They were climbing the stairs to the wraparound porch when the splintered front door opened and Eureka Police Chief Ryan charged out, almost sliding to a stop when he spotted his SFPD colleagues. "Whoa, I wasn't expecting to see you guys back here," he spouted to Healey and Haseejian before turning his attention to Steve. He smiled warmly and held out his right hand. "You must be Mike's partner, right? Steve Keller, isn't it?"

Smiling, Steve shook the older man's hand, nodding. "Yes, sir, it is."

"Scott Ryan. I'm the chief of police in Eureka." He shook his head from side to side and exhaled loudly. "Boy, we were glad to find you, that's for sure. That partner of yours is really something… I don't think anything was going to stop him from finding you, right, fellas?" He glanced at the two sergeants.

Haseejian chuckled and Healey nodded. "You got that right," he agreed.

"I'm lucky to have him," Steve said quietly with a chuckle but there was something in his voice that made the three older men pause slightly.

"Speaking of Mike," Ryan continued almost hurriedly, "how's he doing?"

When Steve hesitated, Haseejian offered, "Oh, ah, he's doing great. We just saw him. He'll be out in a couple a days and we'll take him home. We'll take 'em both home." He glanced worriedly at Steve. "So, ah, what's happening here?"

Tearing his eyes from the obviously distracted young cop, Ryan clapped his hands together. "Well, ah, as you can see, we're busy. Lots of ground, and buildings, to cover. We're still waiting for that drug dog to get here from Vegas – they say it'll be a couple of hours – but we're slowly tearing everything apart and there's a ton of paperwork in boxes in there." He nodded over his shoulder.

"Did you arrest Lassister yet?" Steve interjected quietly.

Ryan's strong features broke into a satisfied grin. "Yes, we did – yesterday. I thought John was going to jump out of his skin – " he broke off and looked at Steve. "You met Sheriff Manley, right?"

"Oh yeah, " Steve nodded with a warm smile.

"Well then, you can just imagine how thrilled he was to be able to snap those cuffs around Lassiter's wrists. It was sweet revenge."

"Well, you're gonna have to tell us all about it over a beer," Healey laughed, "but right now we want to walk Steve through the property here and see if it jogs his memory any. And then we'll take his statement, if that's okay with you?"

"Sure, of course," Ryan nodded. "To be honest, I really have no jurisdiction here," he said quietly, leaning closer to the trio, "and we've had to bring in the Feds because of… everything…" he said vaguely, choosing his words carefully having understood perfectly the significance of Healey's veiled caution, "but there's just so much to process they've asked me to hang around." He turned to the young inspector. "Good to see you, Steve. I hope to have a beer with you and Mike real soon. Fellas." He nodded curtly as he continued down the steps and across the parking area.

As Healey and Haseejian started towards the door hanging crookedly from one hinge, Steve stopped him. "Guys, ah, let's just get this done, okay? Let's go to the barn."

The sergeants shared a look. "You sure?" Healey asked quietly.

"Yeah… yeah, let's go."

Haseejian cocked his head. "Okay," he breathed softly, and the three descended the staircase and started across the parking lot towards the innocent looking red-and-white barn.


	24. Chapter 24

"Well, it's good to see you awake," Devitt chuckled, letting the door close behind him as he approached the bed. "How are you feeling?"

Mike swallowed, putting the glass of milk down on the overbed before turning to his colleague with a big smile. "Roy," he chuckled as he wiped his mouth with a paper napkin and tossed it on the tray. "I was wondering where you disappeared to."

"Well, unlike you," Devitt said lightly, "I actually have work to do. I just got off the phone with Rudy, bringing him up to date." He paused slightly and cleared his throat. "Just so you're aware…" he scrunched up his face and lowered his voice, "he's gonna want to have a little talk with you when we all get back."

Mike shrank back slightly against the pillows. "You told him…?" he asked quietly with an uneasy frown.

Clearing his throat self-consciously, Devitt shrugged, "He's my boss… I really didn't have much choice in the matter…" He paused and glanced away briefly. "But ah, he's, ah, he's not too happy with me either… so…"

They stared at each other in silence for several long seconds then Mike's lips began to twitch into a smile and he started to laugh. Devitt did the same. "We look like two kids who've just been called to the principal's office," the injured lieutenant in the bed managed to get out between chuckles.

Grinning, Devitt snagged a nearby stool and pulled it closer, sitting. "You didn't answer my question – how are you?"

Pushing the overbed away, Mike nodded with a facial shrug. "I'm okay. Considering…" he chuckled dryly. "Look, ah, I want to thank you for being there for me yesterday… and I want to apologize for… for breaking my promise to you and getting out of the car –"

Devitt put a hand on Mike's arm and squeezed. "I don't want to hear that, okay? You found Steve and the Steen kid –"

"Roy, you'da found them later when you did the sweep after securing the house, right? I just got there before you did, that's all."

Devitt sat back sharply, frowning. "Do you really think that? Did you forget about that biker with the gun that I had to kill at the bottom of the stairs?"

Mike's eyebrows knit and he stared at his colleague in confusion; his gaze unfocused as he struggled to remember.

"Mike, if you hadn't been there, if you hadn't gotten Steve untied from that ring, he would've been a sitting duck for that guy, long before I could have gotten there in time to stop him. Don't you remember that?"

Slowly, Mike shook his head. There were snippets of his time at the ranch, in the barn, that had disappeared from his memory. "I, ah… I don't remem- wait, he was lying on the floor at the foot of the stairs, wasn't he?"

Smiling slightly, Devitt nodded. He squeezed his colleague's arm again. "You were losing blood and in a lot of pain. I'm not surprised you don't remember it all right now, but it should come back… I wouldn't worry about it."

Mike nodded distractedly, looking down. "I remember being in the car with you," he whispered, "you saved my life…"

"I got you here," Devitt corrected gently, "Norm and I got you here… if anyone saved your life it was the staff here… not us…"

Mike continued to stare into nothing; Devitt watched him wordlessly.

The journey back home for both partners was going to be slow, but at least it had begun.

# # # # #

The walk across the gravel parking lot and around the myriad official vehicles deposited haphazardly around the house and barn took longer than it normally would have taken. Steve's cracked ribs were slowing his stride, and he was taking the almost leisurely pace to study the area as they approached the barn, it's large door standing open.

The two sergeants were watching him carefully, as they would a suspect, hoping to pick up on any subtle signal he might be unaware he was broadcasting. So far there had been nothing. As if becoming conscious of their scrutiny, he glanced up at them both and shook his head. As they got to the door he looked to his right and froze.

"What?" Healey asked quickly.

Steve glanced at his colleague then nodded towards a small wooden hut alongside the barn. "They, ah, they'd blindfold me and drag me up the stairs and outside to an outhouse. Then they take the rope off my hands and shove me inside. I was told I had to come out with the blindfold back on. Then they'd shove me up against the wall and retie me and make sure the blindfold was in place and then I'd be dragged back down the stairs and tied to the wall again…" His voice had become so soft they could barely hear him. When he finished talking he was staring at the ground, unmoving.

Haseejian put a hand on his shoulder and steered him gently into the barn, looking at his partner over his shoulder. Healey shook his head in anger and frustration as he followed them into the large building now teeming with activity.

A couple of uniformed CSP officers looked up at their entrance and frowned, moving to intercept. Both Healey and Haseejian had their I.D.'s and stars out and the officers nodded, stepping back with acknowledging nods.

Steve crossed to the middle of the barn and looked around, shaking his head. He moved closer to the ladder going up to the mow then turned his attention to the open trapdoor. It was as if he was retracing the steps he assumed Mike had taken the day before.

Ignoring the bustle around him, the officers going up and down from the lower level, the shouts back and forth, he walked around the open trap and stared at the door, still lying flat against the barn floor. Gingerly he bent down and tried to pick it up but, even accounting for his cracked ribs and badly bruised stomach muscles, he realized just how incredibly heavy the door was.

As he stood, slowly and painfully, he looked at his colleagues and his expression told them everything they needed to know; they were all in awe of what Mike, his abdomen held together by stitches, had been able to do. Adrenaline, fear and love can be the most powerful of motivators.

Taking a big breath, Steve started slowly down the stairs, the sergeants close behind. Lights on stands had been brought in; the cavernous space somehow seemed smaller now that there was more illumination.

Steve stood at the bottom of the stairs and looked around. He turned to Haseejian, slowly shaking his head. "I didn't see anything, Norm, this doesn't trigger anything for me, I'm sorry."

"That's okay," the sergeant responded quietly, putting a hand on the younger man's elbow, "but why don't we take a walk around. What about sounds? Smells?"

They started to cross slowly towards the wall where he'd been tied.

"The only smells I can remember are the ones we're smelling right now – straw, mold, that musty wet smell, body odor… nothing else, really… " He exhaled loudly in frustration. "And as for sounds, nothing out of the ordinary, at least none that I can think of…"

"Did you talk to Craig Steen at all?"

Steve nodded, staring towards the cell, now filled with lab technicians, the initials FBI on their dark blue windbreakers. "A bit but… the kid was pretty strung out… he told me his name and I told him who I was but… he cried a lot… he was scared…" His voice became a whisper. "We both were…"

He fell silent for a few seconds then said quietly, "He was here for a lot longer than I was… I don't know how I'd be if I'd been here as long as him…"

# # # # #

"Hey, I heard they got the ship last night?"

Mike's question shook Devitt from his reverie. The gray-haired lieutenant was still coming to grips with Steve's revelations of the night before; every time he looked at Mike now he was seeing him though Steve's eyes, and a knot was forming in his belly. He wasn't sure what the knot was made of, though. Was it worry, fear… or envy?

"Ah yeah," Devitt answered with a smile, "yeah, it crossed into American waters around 2:30 and they were on it within minutes. Took it without firing a shot."

"And it was carrying the heroin?"

"Carrying? It was loaded. It's probably going to be one of the biggest seizures in California history when they finally get it all weighed. But they're keeping everything on the QT right now because Interpol is going to get involved and they want to trace it back to where it came from. You know, this is going to have international repercussions. And to think, it all started with a couple of missing young men and a bar fight."

"Yeah," Mike chuckled dryly, his right hand going to his stomach again. "I guess it was worth it, hunh?"

Devitt smiled. "Well, I guess some of us suffered for the cause a little more than others, wouldn't you say?"

"What you mean 'us', kemosabe?" Mike grumbled good-naturedly and Devitt laughed.

Mike laid his head back against the pillow and laughed carefully, his hand remaining on his stomach. A grin lingering, he looked at Devitt in peace. "You know, when all is said and done, I'd go through it all again. We're taking down a drug empire and a human trafficking scheme that was just so… horrifying…" His eyes suddenly filled with tears and he blinked quickly to keep them from falling. "I can't stop thinking about those other families, the ones who'll never get their sons back. What are we going to tell them?"

Devitt nodded. "Yeah," he breathed wistfully.

Mike raised his head slightly. "Steve doesn't know anything about the heroin or the reason for the kidnappings yet, does he?"

"No," his colleague answered, shaking his head.

Mike nodded, thinking. "I want to be the one to tell him," he said quietly, his unfocused stare drifting away. He had no idea how his young partner would take the news, but he knew he needed to be with him no matter what.

# # # # #

"They, uh… they'd bring us food every once in a while… I'm not sure how often… Time became a blur." Steve was standing near the wall where he had been restrained. "They'd untie my hands from the ring but leave them tied together so I could eat. It was always something I could pick up with my fingers – fried chicken once, a hamburger once, a couple of sandwiches. And always water in a plastic cup… I guess they didn't trust me with a bottle or a cup…" He snorted dryly.

"I tried to break away once… even though I was blindfolded and my hands were still tied… I knew I had to take the chance… I didn't want to disappear like the others…" His already soft voice drifted away completely.

After several seconds, Haseejian asked quietly, "What did they do?"

Steve looked up at him, smiling slightly and snorting again, this time with irony. "That's when they cracked my ribs… I didn't get very far. I was thrown to the ground and kicked a couple of times and then they dragged me back and tied me up again… I remember when they brought Craig his next meal, they didn't bring one for me…. punishment, I guess…" He was staring at the ring bolted securely into the wall.

Healey glanced at his partner, anger in both their looks.

"When I got fed the next time, they made sure I wasn't going to do anything by kicking me first… but there seemed to be a method to their cruelty…" He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. "I mean, it was like they wanted to discipline me, they wanted to punish me, but they didn't want to hurt me." He looked up at his colleagues and frowned. "Does that make any sense?"

Not wanting to tip their hand, Healey shrugged and said vaguely, "Maybe they were saving you for something else. Did you have any sense of what that could be? Something they may have said accidently or something you might have overheard?"

Steve looked down and shook his head. "No… like I said, they didn't say much. It was always a male voice, by the way, but there was more than one of them."

"Think you'd recognize any of them?" Haseejian prodded.

The younger man shrugged, shaking his head. "I don't know…" His gaze drifted towards the cage again. "Do you guys know what they were keeping Craig for? What they were keeping me for? Were we some kind of bargaining chips for something? A kidnapping ring? Did it have something to do with drugs?"

The look of confusion and anguish he turned to them cut through the layers of detachment the two sergeants had been able to cultivate over the years, a necessary tool for maintaining sanity in an increasingly distressing occupation.

Healey glanced at his partner then turned his sad eyes on their junior colleague. "Come on, son, let's, ah, let's get you back to Eureka." He put a fatherly arm around the young man's thin shoulders and started to lead him towards the staircase.

The words, 'we want to get you back to Mike' hung unspoken in the air.


	25. Chapter 25

"Listen, Roy, I need you to do me a favor, if you don't mind?" Mike asked a little sheepishly, looking at his colleague from the corner of his eye.

Devitt tensed. He knew that look. "What?" he asked suspiciously.

"It's nothing terrible, it just involves giving Rudy another call…"

The gray-haired lieutenant sagged. "Oh, you gotta be joking…" he almost whined. "Rudy?"

Grimacing, Mike nodded. "Yeah, sorry. I'd do it myself but I'm really not up to one of his lectures right now," he moaned, resting his hand on his stomach and staring at his colleague with a hangdog expression.

Devitt groaned and shook his head in playful exasperation. "All right. What do you need me to do?"

Mike brightened, sitting up a little higher and grinning. "Great. I need you to ask him if he could call my daughter. She started at the University of Arizona last month –"

"Congratulations."

"Thanks. Anyway, we've been calling each other every few days and I told her last week Steve and I were coming up here and I probably wouldn't be able to call her for a while. But it's been over a week now and I don't want her to worry. So –"

"So what do you want Rudy to do about that?"

Mike tilted his head and glared. "If you quit interrupting me, I'll tell you."

"Sorry."

"Jeannie's phone number is on a piece of paper in the top drawer of my desk. I want you to ask Rudy if he'd give her a call tonight and just tell her that Steve and I were delayed and will be home in a couple of days and I'll call her then." Devitt opened his mouth to say something but Mike ploughed on, raising a forefinger for emphasis. "Under no circumstances is he to mention anything about me being in the hospital and Steve being kidnapped. Is that clear?"

With a straight face, and nodding with exaggerated formality, Devitt said flatly, "Perfectly. Yes, I can do that."

Mike stared at him silently through narrowed eyes and neither moved for several long seconds. Finally Mike nodded once. "Good. Thanks." He started to smile and then chuckle and Devitt did the same, reaching out to slap his colleague on the arm.

"I'll go call him right now. I know he's there." He got up from the stool. "Can I get you anything?"

Smiling happily, Mike sank back against the pillows and shook his head. "No, thanks, I'm good."

"Okay," Devitt chuckled as he headed to the door. "Why don't you catch a few winks? Dan and Norm should be on their way back with Steve soon. I think you're gonna need every ounce of strength you've got to get you both through the next few hours." He met Mike's stare evenly; the injured man's smile disappeared and he nodded sadly.

Without another word, Devitt opened the door and left. Mike's stare slid to the ceiling, then he closed his eyes and sighed deeply. His innate intuition was telling him it was going to take a lot longer than a few hours.

# # # # #

Healey glanced across the front seat. Steve was staring out the side window, ostensibly watching the northern California landscape flying by. They were getting closer to Eureka and the silence in the car that had started out as companionable was slowly becoming strained.

It had become obvious that the young inspector had known for awhile that information was being withheld from him and would be until he had had been debriefed about his time in captivity. And now that that was behind them, he needed, both as a police officer and a victim, to be told what had happened to him, and why.

Healey looked into the rearview mirror; Haseejian was staring back. The next few hours were going to be a real test for everyone. But for the partners at the centre of it all, it could very well reshape their relationship in ways neither of them could anticipate.

# # # # #

"Thanks a lot, Rudy. Mike appreciates it a lot… Yeah, I told ya, he's fine, he just needs to rest but he's going to be okay… Yeah, yeah, well, we'll have to wait and see on that. We're gonna let Mike tell him… Yeah, yeah, I know… Don't worry, we'll be here for both of them… Okay, thanks, talk to you later."

Devitt returned the receiver to the black phone on the counter at the nurses station, staring at it silently for several seconds before he looked up and smiled perfunctorily at the older woman staring at him kindly. He raised his eyebrows and sighed; she reached for the phone, taking it off the counter, and shook her head in sympathy. The hospital staff were aware of the big picture of what had happened and were becoming instrumental in helping both the cops and the victims, Mike and Steve among them, come to grips with what had transpired.

With a final ironic snort, Devitt turned to look down the corridor as his three colleagues exited the elevator and turned in his direction. He stepped away from the station to approach them, his eyes on the young inspector.

Steve looked up and nodded. "Roy."

Devitt smiled at them all, turning his questioning gaze on the two sergeants. "So, ah, how did it go?"

Healey shrugged and Haseejian grimaced slightly. Steve, who was looking down, shuffled uncomfortably. "Sorry, Roy, I couldn't remember anything. Anything that could help, anyway. I was blindfolded the whole time…" He shrugged and sighed, obviously disappointed with himself.

Devitt, with another glance at the two sergeants, put a hand lightly on the younger man's arm and squeezed. "Don't worry about it, Steve. We've got plenty already to put everybody involved away for a long time… Don't worry about it."

Still looking down, his hands in his pants pockets, Steve nodded distractedly, not quite convinced by his superior officer's comforting words.

Devitt looked up at Healey and Haseejian again, his eyes widening slightly. With understanding nods, the two detectives slowly backed away. The lieutenant stepped closer to the younger man and slid an arm around his shoulders. "Look, Steve," he said quietly, "I think it's time you and Mike had a little talk. You need to know what we know." He started towards Mike's room, gently bringing Steve along with him.

They walked down the corridor in silence. When they got to the door, Devitt squeezed the younger man's shoulder then pushed the wooden door open. As Steve stepped into the room, Devitt let the door close, turned and walked heavily back down the corridor to join his colleagues.

Steve stood just inside the door, staring at the bed. It was partially raised, its occupant's head back against the pillows, a hand resting lightly on his stomach and his eyes closed. Moving quietly, Steve approached. He stared at his partner for a long time before pulling the tall stool closer and sitting.

He thought about the barn, about the trapdoor, and the incredible strength it must have taken, both physical and of will, that the badly injured man had shown in his desperation to find and save his life.

His heart was pounding and his eyes stung with the tears that he couldn't seem to control.

# # # # #

He woke up slowly, surprised he had fallen so deeply asleep. Keeping his eyes closed, he shifted carefully, increasing the pressure of his hand on his stomach, trying not to put too much strain on the fresh sutures in his belly; he was still very sore. He lay quietly, breathing through his mouth as the discomfort subsided. He twisted his head from side to side, getting the kinks out of his neck, then opened his eyes.

He started slightly, surprised to find his partner perched on a stool beside the bed. His smile was instantaneous. "Whoa, what are you doing here?" he asked with a chuckle, obviously pleased.

Steve's face creased into a warm smile of his own. "We got back a little while ago."

"You've been waiting for me to wake up?"

His partner nodded. "Uhm-humh."

"You coulda woken me. I can sleep anytime, you know." Mike chuckled again.

"You seemed so peaceful, I didn't want to disturb you." It was said in jest but Mike could hear the melancholia behind the words. Peace was the last thing that any of them were feeling right now.

Mike gingerly pushed himself up into a sitting position, trying not to wince. Steve stood quickly and helped rearrange the pillows. Satisfied, Mike leaned back against them, smiling his thanks as Steve returned to the stool.

"So, ah, so what happened at the ranch? Did you remember anything?"

Steve shook his head dejectedly. "No, nothing. Like I told the others, they kept me blindfolded the entire time, I didn't see anything. And nothing stood out for me – no smells, no sounds… nothing…"

"Don't worry about it. If there's something you need to remember, it'll come back in time… You've seen that before, right, with witnesses we've interviewed? You can ask 'em about the same thing over and over again and the more they think about it, the further away it goes. And then all of a sudden, when they're not trying to remember, it just comes back to them. You're no different." He smiled encouragingly and Steve smiled back and nodded.

"Yeah, I guess…"

"No guessing," Mike said lowly with a playful gruffness, "I know… and you know." He stared at the younger man, his smile slowly disappearing. He knew the time for evasion and protection was over. He took a deep breath. "Listen, Steve, I know you're aware we've been keeping things from you… because we needed to know if you could add anything to what we've already discovered, and we couldn't taint what you were going to tell us. But that's behind us now, and it's time you know exactly what we know. Do you agree?"

Steve shifted uncomfortably on the stool. In the time they had been partners, they had never been put into this situation, where one knew more than the other. And he could tell from Mike's tone of voice that what was being withheld was far graver than he might have been thinking. Once again his heart began to pound and his mouth suddenly went dry.

He nodded almost apprehensively. "Yeah," he said softly.

Mike's small smile was warm and proud. "All right, good. So, ah, so what do you know about what was going on at the ranch?"

Steve shook his head. "Not much. Just what you and I'd heard about the possibility of drug running out of there but…" he shrugged, "…nothing else. I mean, other than the fact that the disappearance of those boys is now tied to the ranch and more than likely has something to do with drugs, I don't know anything else." He finished with another shrug.

"Okay," Mike said simply, "okay, well, we learned a lot in the time you were, ah… gone." He swallowed heavily then smiled again and cleared his throat. "You're right about the drugs. So was Sheriff Manley. Turns out the Crocker family, who pretty well owns the town, much in the same way, it seems, the lumber company used to own Colville, are the biggest… importers and distributors of heroin in northern California."

Steve eyebrows knit and his mouth opened slightly. He shook his head in disbelief.

Mike nodded somberly with raised eyebrows. "Yeah. They bring in shiploads of raw, uncut heroin from Thailand, transport it to the ranch by truck, and then they cut it, bag it, distribute it, and rake in money hand over fist. It's quite the little million dollar operation."

"How do they get it in by ship?" Steve asked, and Mike grinned. Suddenly there wasn't a kidnapping victim sitting in front of him; it was his partner again, in full detective mode.

"Well, every six months a ship would arrive on the coast, somewhere just north of Eureka here, and the Crocker family, and their biker gang friends, would meet it with a small flotilla of boats and offload the heroin. Then – and they were really good at this – then they would transfer the heroin from the boats to a fleet of nondescript trucks and vans and such and bring it all back to the ranch. All of this in the dead of night."

"Wow, sounds like quite the operation."

Mike nodded. "Yeah, it sure does, doesn't it?"

"Do you know how long they were doing it for?"

"Well, from what we've learned so far – and believe me, nobody in the Crocker family is talking… as yet – it's been several years."

"And everybody in Crocker is involved?"

"Well, maybe not _everybody_ but a lot, including Sheriff Lassiter and his deputies, and the entire staff at Patches…" Mike watched as this last little bit of information sunk in.

Steve was looking down, his mind obviously racing. He looked up into his partners blue eyes. "All those young guys disappeared from Patches, didn't they? Including Craig Steen." Mike nodded. Steve sat back slightly and his brow furrowed again. "Wait a minute, you said the Crockers received heroin shipments every six months. Those boys were disappearing every six months…" His frown got a little deeper. "Were they using the boys as drug mules or something?"

Mike dropped his eyes and inhaled deeply. When he looked up again, his expression was empathetic. He shook his head slightly. "No, not drug mules," he said quietly and Steve caught his breath.


	26. Chapter 26

Steve stared silently at his partner, who was meeting his gaze without blinking. The inspector's brow began to furrow as his eyes narrowed and his breaths became deeper.

Mike wanted his young colleague to work it out on his own, and he would take all the time necessary for that to happen. If there was something people always underestimated about him, it was his patience.

Eventually the inspector looked away briefly. "So if they weren't being used as drug mules…?" He let the rest of the thought hang.

Mike waited and stared, but the intensity of his gaze softened.

Steve slowly closed his eyes. Inhaling deeply, his tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip, then he bit it. He opened his eyes; they were brighter than they'd been before. He swallowed. "They were payment, weren't they?" he asked softly.

Closing his own eyes, Mike nodded very slowly. "The Crockers gave the supplier money… and a young and healthy American man."

An uncomfortable silence settled over them. Steve took another deep breath and his head went back slightly. "So that's why they were being so careful with Craig… they didn't want to damage the merchandise…"

Mike nodded again. "Yeah," he whispered, still studying his young partner, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"God damn it," Steve breathed, his chest heaving. He brought his hands up to slide down his face, steepling them in front of his mouth as he ran the implications of this news through his mind. His gaze was faraway.

Suddenly his eyes snapped to Mike again. "Wait…" he said quickly, his stare unfocusing briefly as if he was trying to recall something, "this morning, when Norm and Dan were in here to see you. Norm said something about the Coast Guard and Dan shut him up. What -?"

"You heard that?" Mike interrupted him.

Steve nodded, a slight but mirthless smile curling his lips. "I wasn't paying much attention to what they were saying but I caught that. I knew it had to mean something but I just wasn't… I don't know, wasn't in the right head space to ask about it, I guess." He looked warmly at his partner and the smile got a little wider. "I guess I'm not much of a cop after all," he said with a self-deprecating snort.

Mike's eyes narrowed and his lips compressed. "You let me be the judge of that," he said almost fiercely, and Steve's smile disappeared.

Nodding an apology, the younger man dropped his gaze and tried to pick up the thread of the conversation. "So, what Norm said… did he mean that the Coast Guard intercepted the drug ship last night?"

His stern expression softening, Mike nodded.

"So… if the ship was intercepted last night…" Steve was piecing the jigsaw together out loud. Mike waited patiently. "So are you telling me that Craig would have been delivered to that ship sometime yesterday if you guys hadn't raided the ranch in the morning?"

Mike nodded once more, still waiting for the connection to be made. It was very important, he believed, that the young man figure it out on his own.

"Damn," Steve breathed quietly, almost in awe, "that was close…" He looked up at Mike, expecting a nod and a concurring smile. Instead he got a deeper frown.

"Almost too close…" the older man said simply, staring into the green eyes with a grave solemnity.

There was an uneasy pause; neither of them moved. Then Steve's head went back slightly and his lips twitched. He shook his head slightly and quickly, like a shudder. "No…" he whispered with an almost inaudible snort of derision. "No…" he repeated, a little louder, a little more forceful.

His expression unchanging, Mike nodded slowly.

With a sudden gasp, Steve got up from the stool, backed towards the door and turned away sharply, his hands on his hips. Shaking his head and mumbling "No", he paced in a tight circle.

Mike watched silently. He could feel the blood pounding in his ears, like a drumbeat of the frustration that was coursing through him. He knew that all he could do for the devastated young man in front of him was just to be there, just to respond in whatever way was needed.

Eventually the pacing slowed then stopped. Steve stood with his hands still on his hips, staring at the tile floor, trying to bring all his conflicting emotions under control. "That's why they didn't hit me in the face, isn't it?" he asked finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

Nodding, Mike answered gently, "Yeah…"

Steve raised a hand to his mouth, taking a deep breath before closing his eyes, standing perfectly still in the centre of the room. He wrapped the other arm around his chest.

After several long seconds, Mike softly cleared his throat. "Listen, ah, it's a lot to take in all at once… I know you need to process it..."

Steve didn't move but Mike knew he was listening.

"Why, ah… why don't you go take yourself for a walk…? You know I always do my best thinking when I walk…" He smiled slightly; he saw the younger man squeeze his eyes a bit tighter. "I'll be here when you get back…" he finished softly.

Eventually Steve began to nod. Very slowly he turned towards the door and grabbed the handle. He had pulled the door halfway open when he stopped and froze. But he didn't turn and, after a moment's hesitation, disappeared into the corridor.

As the door closed softly, Mike laid back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He closed his eyes, trying to slow his pounding, and breaking, heart.

# # # # #

The door opened quickly and Devitt strode into the room, looking very rattled. "What the hell happened?" he asked without preamble as he almost slid to a stop beside the bed. "Steve just came charging past us like he was on fire and disappeared down the stairwell."

Mike, who hadn't moved and was still lying against the pillows with his eyes closed, waited until his colleague had finished before turning his head slowly and opening one eye. A smile curled his lips as he stared at Devitt's worried visage with gentle bemusement. "Hello, Roy," he said calmly.

"Don't 'Hello, Roy' me. What the hell happened? You obviously told him."

Nodding slowly, Mike allowed his smile to linger. "Yes, I told him…" The smile began to disappear. "Not directly, to be honest, but I said enough for him to figure it out on his own. It took him a while, because… well, honestly… none of us have ever come across something like this before… at least I haven't…" His voice faded away and his stare returned to the ceiling.

Devitt put a hand on his friend's arm and squeezed; he started to relax. "So… what did you say to him?" he asked gently.

Still looking up, Mike snorted dryly. "Not much. I mean, what _can_ you say, right? He knows what it all means. So I told him to take himself for a walk."

Devitt smiled to himself; he was well aware of Mike Stone's belief that a lot of problems could be worked out when you took yourself for a walk and allowed the physicality of the exercise and the solitude to clear your mind and marshal your thoughts. He patted Mike's arm. "One of your Stone's Axioms, right?"

Mike chuckled slightly. "Right."

Devitt sat on the stool that was still beside the bed. He sighed heavily. "So, what do you think he's gonna do?"

"Gonna do? Nothing," Mike replied with a facial shrug. "It's what's going on internally that I'm worried about." He opened his eyes and started to push himself up into a sitting position. Like Steve had done before, Devitt got to his feet to help rearrange the pillows. "Thanks," Mike smiled as he settled back and Devitt sat again.

"So, ah, what has you worried?"

Mike stared at his friend for several seconds before he began. "I know this is going to be disturbing for him, realizing how close he came to disappearing just like those other boys did, and what would have happened to him overseas, but I don't want him to dwell on it. I don't want it to overwhelm him and I don't want him to wallow." His blue eyes suddenly bore into his colleague. "I know he's going to react to what almost happened, and I understand that, but the operative word there is _almost_ … _almost_ happened. I don't want him coming back here second-guessing his choice of career or blubbering about how close he came to a fate worse than death."

Devitt slowly raised his eyebrows and exhaled loudly. "Wow, that's, ah, that's hard."

Mike nodded once. "I know. But it's what he needs, if he wants to do this job, and it's what I need from him. You know as well as I do how tough this job can be, the things we've seen over the years, the things we've lived through… the things he'll be seeing and living through if he decides that this is what he wants to do for the rest of his life.

"I need a dedicated police officer at my side, a partner that I know I can trust in every possible way. I know he's the one, Roy, I really do. There's something very special about that boy that I've never felt before, and if I'm lucky he will be the last partner I have. But I have to make sure that he knows himself well enough to realize that what just happened, as horrible as it is, is just another piece of the puzzle that will ultimately shape who he is as a detective and as a man."

Devitt stared at his friend for a long beat. "You know, you're putting a lot of pressure on him; I hope you realize that?"

Mike smiled mirthlessly. "I know. And that's why I hope he comes back a better man than the one who left."

# # # # #

It had turned into a chilly late afternoon and the sun was starting to go down. His sports coat was buttoned and his hands were deep in his pants pockets. He had been walking aimlessly for over two hours. He had no idea where he was, and he didn't care. It was a small city, he knew, and, if need be, he could catch a cab.

He was still having a hard time wrapping his head around it, around how close he had actually come from disappearing… from his job, his friends, his world, his life… his partner… He inhaled sharply. He couldn't stop thinking about Danny Cutler and Stuart Sullivan, about what had happened to them; the horror that had awaited them after they had been delivered to their 'buyer'.

He shuddered, not just from the cold. He lowered his head and kept walking.

Snippets of memory kept flashing through his mind; Mike, his shirt red with blood, collapsing to the floor of the poolroom; the heart-stopping moment he'd heard his partner's voice calling Craig's name; lying in Mike's arms as the rope was gently removed from his wrists.

He felt the warm tears coursing down his cheeks before he even realized he was crying. He let them fall, not caring if anyone noticed.

# # # # #

Trying not to wince, Mike rolled onto his side and reached for his watch on the bed table, holding it far enough away so he could see the hands. 6:18. He put it down and laid back again, staring at the ceiling. He sighed loudly. It had been over three hours since Steve had left and, if truth be told, he was beginning to wonder if he had done the right thing in ordering the young man to take himself for a walk.

What he had said to Devitt kept floating through his mind. Until that moment, he'd never admitted to anyone the depth of his feelings towards the young man who had so quickly become such an important part of his life. And, if push came to shove, he wasn't going to let him leave it without one hell of a fight.

He let his head sink deeper into the pillows and he closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind. It was a task that was proving to be impossible, he thought, as he sighed again.

He didn't hear the soft swish of the door opening, but he suddenly sensed a presence in the room. He turned his head and opened his eyes.

Steve Keller was standing in the open doorway.


	27. Chapter 27

Mike stared without expression at the young man standing in the open doorway, trying to judge his mood.

His right hand on the door, Steve was staring back with a slight frown then he slowly took a step forward and let his hand slide off the door, allowing it to close gently and silently behind him. As he moved towards the bed his eyes began to light up and a smile to build.

Mike mirrored the look; he could feel the blood pounding in his ears and the sting of sudden tears in his eyes. He blinked quickly, trying to clear his vision and mask his embarrassingly undisciplined reaction but was woefully unsuccessful. Clearing his throat self-consciously, he hesitated a split second before remarking, in a somewhat strained voice, "You were gone a long time."

Still smiling warmly, Steve nodded. "I had a lot to think about."

"Yeah, I know…" He wanted to ask what conclusions his young partner had come to, but wasn't sure if he was prepared to hear the answers. There was so much, for both of them, hanging above their heads at the moment.

Steve knew what Mike was thinking and he smiled genially. He knew the last few hours had been as difficult for his mentor as they had for him, and he didn't want to keep the older man on tenterhooks any longer than necessary.

Mike had taken a huge gamble telling him about the Crocker drug machine and allowing him to work out the implications of his own incarceration. The realization of how close he had come to losing everything was soul shattering but, as he had seen many times in the past few months as this remarkable man's partner, Mike knew exactly what to do to help him deal with it.

He raised his left hand; he was holding a white plastic grocery bag. Mike's head went back slightly and he frowned; he hadn't noticed it when Steve was standing at the door, so focused he had been on the young man's face. He shook his head slightly in bemusement at his own oversight and chuckled softly. "What's that?"

With a widening grin, Steve dropped the bag on the bed and reached in. "I thought I'd get us a little treat. I already checked with the nurses and you're allowed. Ta-da," he laughed as he withdrew two boxes of Cracker Jacks. "Your favorite."

Laughing, Mike closed his eyes briefly and tossed his head back. A wave of relief washed over him and he caught his breath with a shudder. Instinctively, Steve reached out, laying a hand on his arm and squeezing. Mike looked at him; neither of them was smiling. They both knew how much had been at stake.

But now, at this moment, Steve had never felt more loved and Mike had never felt so proud.

Removing his hand and clearing his throat, Steve said with forced casualness, "Listen, ah, there's three cops out there," he nodded over his shoulder towards the door, "who haven't had dinner yet and neither have I…" He looked at the older man with raised eyebrows.

Mike shook his head quickly, a slight smile beginning to appear. "Ah, no… no, I haven't…"

"Good. That's what I thought. Anyway, ah, I talked to the nurses about that too," he smiled mischievously from under a lowered brow, "and they told me you can have pizza, as long as it's not too spicy – and no anchovies," he finished quickly, raising a forefinger as Mike opened his mouth to protest.

The older man glared at him for a long beat before the smile reappeared along with a chuckle. Then, with a smirk, he waggled his index finger back and forth between them. "This being in control is not going to last very long, you do know that, right?"

With a dry chuckle of his own, Steve bobbed his eyebrows. "Can I at least enjoy it while it lasts?" He put the Cracker Jack boxes back in the bag and set it on the floor before turning towards the door. "I'll go order the pizza and tell the guys to come in."

As the door closed behind the departing young man, Mike leaned back against the pillows and squeezed his eyes tightly shut, trying to stop the tears of joy and relief. He was only partially successful.

# # # # #

"So who, exactly, is this 'Mongo' guy?" Steve asked as he picked up another slice of pizza from the box, tearing at the cheese strings to free it from its neighbours. He sat back down on the stool beside the bed, glancing at Healey and Haseejian.

Two chairs and another stool had been brought into the room. Haseejian was in a chair against the wall near the door, Healey on the stool beside him. Devitt's chair was at the foot of the bed.

Mike, a half-eaten slice of cheese-and-pepperoni in his right hand and a napkin in the other, swallowed before answering. "Remember our little… altercation in the bar?"

Steve snorted. "How could I forget?" They all chuckled but there was no mirth in the sound.

"Well, his buddy was that bald-headed freak who stabbed me," Mike's voice was soft and almost far-away; he cleared his throat slightly, "and, ah, 'Mongo' kicked me in the head when I was down." He stared at his partner without blinking. He knew Steve wasn't aware of this; it had happened after he'd been hit with the pool cue. He pointed to the still visible bruising on the right side of his face. "That's how I got this."

Steve stared at him unmoving, trying to process this new information. He nodded slowly.

Not wanting to dwell, Mike pressed on. "So, anyway, turns out their little… attack on you and me wasn't in the Crocker playbook, so to speak. Seems Baldy had a real anger problem and resented you and me playing on _his_ table."

"That was all it was?" Steve asked incredulously, looking around the room at the others, who nodded back solemnly. "Son of a bitch…" he breathed as he sagged on the stool, the slice of pizza forgotten in his hand.

"Anyway," Healey took up the narrative, bringing them all back to the here and now, "shortly after all that happened," he gestured vaguely back and forth between the partners, "Baldy and Mongo got run off the road by a truck, a la 'Easy Rider'. Lassiter's truck, as a matter of fact. Baldy hit a tree and was killed but Mongo managed to survive."

"Yeah, so Dan and I convinced him," Haseejian continued, glancing at his partner with a tight smile, "that if the Crockers wanted them dead that badly, he could only do himself some good if he came clean and told us what he knew." He shrugged with a pleased smirk. "So… he talked…"

"We're lucky he did," Devitt offered as he sat forward, "'cause that meant we got to you and Craig in time."

They were all looking at Steve with varying degrees of intensity. The youngest member of the group was staring at his partner, who was looking back with a soft smile; then he winked.

"Is there any of that pizza left?" Haseejian's booming voice broke through the increasingly tense silence like a hot knife through butter as he lumbered to his feet and crossed to the overbed table at the foot of the bed where the two pizzas boxes lay.

The others chuckled with somewhat relieved trepidation, grateful for the reprieve. As Healey and Devitt joined the Armenian detective in their quest for another slice, Steve looked at the bed and smiled. He reached out, placed his hand on Mike's forearm and squeezed. Mike's throat tightened, and his smile grew wider.

# # # # #

"Look, ah, I'm gonna get outa here and let you get some sleep. It's gonna be a long drive home tomorrow." Steve picked up the stool he'd been sitting on and placed it against the wall.

Mike, who was more tired than he wanted to admit, let his head drop back onto the pillows. "Sounds like a good idea. Hey, thanks for the pizza, and the Cracker Jack." He pointed at the tiny plastic hourglass on the bedtable and chuckled.

"You're welcome," Steve smiled back. He stared at the older man for a couple of long seconds. "I haven't thanked you properly for what you did for me… at the ranch…"

Mike started to shake his head. "No, you don't have to –"

"Yeah, I do." Steve cut him off, the smile disappearing. "I tried to lift that trapdoor. I don't know how you did it… with the stitches and everything…"

Mike looked away, blinking quickly. Almost subconsciously his right hand went to his stomach. "I didn't have a choice," he said softly, "we were running out of time…"

"You could've killed yourself," Steve said simply, his green eyes continuing to stare, unwilling to back down. "You could've died –"

"No," Mike's eyes snapped up, wide with concern. "No," he repeated firmly, "I wasn't risking my life… I set my recovery back, yes, but my life was never in jeopardy… never. Don't make it sound more dramatic that it was… okay…?" A small warm smile and a soft chuckle took the sting out of the words.

Steve stared, holding his tongue, then he smiled slightly and shook his head. "You're incorrigible, you know that?"

Mike's brow furrowed, confused. "In- what?" he asked haltingly.

Frowning, Steve took a breath. "It means," he began pedantically, "that you're –"

Instantly the older man's face lit up and he laughed. "Beyond hope, I know."

Steve threw his head back. "Why do I let you do that to me?" he asked rhetorically to the ceiling. When he looked back down, he stared at his partner affectionately. Mike stared back and winked.

Reaching out quickly, Steve put his hand on the back of the older man's head and held him briefly, then dropped his hand and took a step back. "Listen, ah, I'll be in first thing in the morning and we can get all our shit together and get out of here, okay?"

"Sounds like a good plan to me," Mike agreed, leaning back against the pillows and trying to keep his heavy-lidded eyes open.

"Try to get a good night's sleep," Steve said as he started for the door.

Mike turned his head. "You too, buddy boy."

Smiling warmly, Steve left the room.

# # # # #

The dark blue wooden door opened and the teary-eyed middle-aged woman looked at him in confusion for a split second before her face exploded into a happy grin and she reached out to pull him into a tight embrace.

Startled, Steve Keller found it extremely difficult not to return the hug. Eventually she pulled back and held him at arms length but was reluctant to let him go entirely. "Oh my god, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but…" She inhaled quickly and beamed again. "I don't know how to thank you, I really don't…"

"Mrs. Steen, it wasn't just me, it was a bunch of people –"

"I know, I know," she interrupted him gently. "I heard about you and your partner. Is he okay?"

Steve smiled encouragingly. "Yeah, he's gonna be fine. He, ah, he was the one who found Craig and me."

"I heard," she smiled warmly. "How can I ever thank you both…?" Her gratitude was so genuine he didn't know how to respond.

He shook his head self-consciously. "We're just glad we got Craig back. Um, how's he doing?"

She released her hold on him and took a step back. Her smile quickly turned into a mask of motherly concern. "Physically he's doing okay but…"

Steve nodded sympathetically. "I understand."

"Of course you do," she smiled gratefully. "Would you like to see him?"

The young detective nodded. "I'm sorry it's so late, but we're leaving tomorrow morning to go back to San Francisco and… "

"No need to apologize," she smiled, taking a step back and allowing him further into the house so she could shut the door. "He hasn't been sleeping too well since he got home." She tried to cover her worried tone with a smile but it fell heartbreakingly short. "Follow me."

She led him through the living room and down a short corridor to a closed bedroom door. She knocked once before opening it. "Craig honey, there's someone to see you."

She took a step back so Steve could move into the doorframe. He smiled warmly. "Hi, Craig. I'm Steve."


	28. Chapter 28

The slightly-built young man with the blond surfer haircut and the haunted blue eyes looked towards the door with suspicion and dread. He was sitting against the headboard of the single bed, his arms wrapped around his upraised knees.

Steve smiled at Mrs. Steen with a curt nod then stepped further into the room. She quietly closed the door behind him.

"I don't know if you remember –"

"I know who you are," Steen said sharply, dropping his head back onto his arms.

"Good," the detective said softly, looking around the room as he moved closer to the bed. There was no other place to sit so he stood and waited for several long seconds. When the young man didn't look up again, he cleared his throat softly. "Was this your room when you were a kid?" he asked, his tone friendly and non-threatening. Still no response. "I ask because I remember your Mom telling my partner and me that you had your own apartment. We were there actually, trying to find something that would help to tell us where you were."

He watched as the young man tensed and his head rose slightly, listening. "Well, you didn't find me, did ya?… And you ended up down in that… that cellar just like I did, didn't ya?"

The bitterness in the young voice was surprising but not unanticipated. Steve smiled slightly in understanding, determined not to overplay his hand.

"Yeah, yeah, that's what happened all right. But not because we didn't discover anything in your apartment. I ended up there because I happened to play pool on the wrong table."

That caught the young man's interest. He raised his head from his arms and met Steve's eyes with a wary caution. "What do you mean?"

Sensing a break-through, Steve took the opportunity to sit on the foot of the bed; Steen watched silently as he did. "Well, the bikers objected to my partner and I playing pool on _their table,_ " he raised his hands, his first two fingers making air quotes. "They put him in the hospital and they took me to the ranch, with you."

Steen stared at him for several long seconds without moving; Steve waited. "Your partner… was he all right?"

Nodding, the detective smiled again. "He's gonna be fine. Thanks for asking."

Steen nodded, looking away briefly. "Was, ah, was that him that, ah… that found us…?"

"Yeah."

"I thought you said he was in the hospital?"

"He was. They stabbed him in the belly with a beer bottle."

Steen's head snapped back and he inhaled sharply, his eyes narrowing.

Steve smiled softly. "He's a tough guy… He got them to let him ride along when they raided the ranch… He said he needed to find us, you and me…" He bit his bottom lip hard, trying to stop the tears he knew were threatening to cloud his vision; he couldn't let this boy see him lose control. He took a deep breath and steadied himself.

"He opened that heavy trap door all by himself… he popped some of the stitches in his belly and he started to bleed again, but that didn't stop him."

Steen's eyes were boring into him; the boy's mouth had fallen open and he was breathing heavily. "He called to me… I remember hearing his voice… He was calling your name, he thought I was you… He broke the lock on the cage…" Tears started to slide down his cheeks. "He held me in his arms… he called me by my name, and he told me he was going to get help… I didn't want to let him go… I was so scared…" He dropped his head again.

An uneasy silence hung over them, then Steve said softly, "He saved us both, didn't he?"

Steen nodded, his head still on his arms. His muffled sniffles could be faintly heard. Eventually he looked up, only his eyes visible. "Are you sure he's okay?"

Steve smiled gratefully. "Yeah, he really is. They had to put him back in the hospital and stitch him up again, but he's good. As a matter of fact, we're heading home tomorrow."

Steen swallowed heavily, raising his head a little higher. "Where's that?"

"San Francisco. We're both homicide cops."

For the first time, a glimmer of interest, tinged with a tiny bit of awe, was reflected in the blue eyes. "No shit?"

Steve grinned and shook his head emphatically. "No shit."

Steen grinned back with a short laugh but it disappeared quickly. "They, ah, they told me what I was kidnapped for…" He bit his bottom lip and sucked in a quick breath. "Was that true?" His blue-eyed stare was unsettlingly familiar.

Steve stared back and nodded slowly with a facial shrug. "Yeah… it was true."

The young man's face crumbled and he buried his head in his arms again.

"But it didn't happen, did it, Craig?"

The blond head came up, the eyes narrowed and confused.

"It didn't happen, did it? We weren't put on that ship and we weren't sent overseas, were we…? Were we?"

He waited for a response. He knew that this was the right time, that this was the make or break moment. And he waited and watched without blinking.

The blue stare faltered and dropped, and Steve hid his elation. "No… no, we weren't."

"No, we weren't," Steve repeated, his tone light and encouraging. "We're still here, both of us… and we've got our whole lives still ahead of us… don't we?"

Steen looked at him again, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"Well, what I mean is… I don't know about you, but I'm not about to spend the rest of my life obsessing over how I almost disappeared on a ship to god knows where. Life's too short for that kinda shit, isn't it?"

Steen lifted his head even more, as if he was hanging on the cop's every word.

"Craig, you have a mom, and some great friends, and a fiancée who loves you very much. You have your whole life ahead of you, man, your whole life. I think the best thing you can do, your way of giving the middle finger to those bastards who wanted to use you to buy drugs, is to move back to your apartment and marry Katie next June and have a whole houseful of kids and be the best dad and the best granddad you can be. Do you think you can do that?" His laugh was deep and real and infectious and, after his initial confused hesitation, the younger man began to smile and nod.

For the first time since he had been stretchered out of the Crocker barn, Craig Steen began to feel like he could get his life back. A small smile ghosted over his thin lips. He nodded slightly. "Yeah, I think I can do that."

Steve grinned. "Great. Yeah, that's what I want to hear." He started to get up, reaching into his jacket pocket and taking out a business card. "Here." He held the card out. "If you ever want to talk…" he shrugged. The younger man glanced from the card to Steve's face and back to the card. He reached out slowly and took it. Steve took a step towards the door.

"Hey," Steen said suddenly. Steve stopped and turned back to him. "What, ah, what are you gonna do? I mean, ah, with the rest of _your_ life."

The older man smiled warmly. "Me? Well, I'm gonna try to become the best homicide detective the city of San Francisco has ever seen. That's what I want to do. And I've got the best teacher I could ever hope for."

"Your partner?" Steen frowned with a smile.

"Umh-humh," Steve nodded with a close-mouthed grin and a happy snort. He moved to the door again, looking back when he turned the knob and pulled it open. "Think about what I said, okay, Craig? We can't let the bastards win, right?"

The young blond nodded again then he smiled self-consciously. "Hey, ah, could you do me a favor and thank your partner for me… you know, for… well, you know…"

"Yeah, I know… and I will. And his name is Mike."

As Steve stepped through the door he turned back to the troubled young man sitting on his childhood bed, and he winked.

# # # # #

Mike finished doing up his shirt, sliding carefully off the bed and tucking the shirt into his pants before buttoning the waistband and doing up his fly. He put his hands on the sides of his abdomen and looked at his partner. "You can't see it, can you?"

Steve, who was snapping Mike's suitcase closed, glanced up and shook his head. "Nope. Well, not really. I mean, you do look like you've gained a couple of pounds."

"Ah, that I can live with," Mike waved a dismissive hand at him as he picked up his windbreaker and baseball cap.

The wooden door opened and their three colleagues crowded into the room. "You guys almost ready to go?" Devitt asked as he glanced around the room as if checking for anything they'd left behind.

"All ready," Steve said, picking up Mike's suitcase and handing it to Healey.

"Paperwork's all done, and I've had my final lecture from Dr. Cavanagh, so we're good to go." His windbreaker on, Mike set the ballcap on his head, tugging the bill into place.

"All right, let's get out of here." Devitt opened the door and stood back for the others to exit.

Haseejian was staring at Mike. "Did you put on weight while you were in here?" he asked innocently.

Mike, who had taken a step towards the door, stopped and glared at his sergeant. "No, I have not," he enunciated every word, "they've given me a… a…"

"A girdle?" Healey offered with a straight face

"A corset?" Haseejian chimed in, chuckling softly.

"A _brace,_ " Mike snapped through gritted teeth, the suddenly hard blue eyes snapping from one insubordinate subordinate to the other as Steve and Devitt laughed.

Straight-faced, the two sergeants looked at each other. "Did you hear snark?" Healey asked calmly. "I'm pretty sure I heard snark."

"Oh, there was definitely snark, I'm confident about that. Snark and a little bit of snit." Haseejian was nodding seriously, scowling as Mike's eyes continued to snap back and forth.

"Yes, yes, you're right about that. Well, at least we know he's feeling better, don't we?" Healey started to grin, staring at Mike who finally realized he was being had.

The lieutenant dropped his head and started to laugh. "Oh dear god, what am I going to do with you two?" He shook his head at them, continuing to chuckle. "Come on, fellas, let's get out of here."

Laughing, Devitt opened the door again and everyone waited for Mike to lead the way. An orderly with a wheelchair was waiting in the corridor and with a frustrated sigh the still recovering lieutenant sat carefully and allowed himself to be wheeled to the elevators.

# # # # #

The five San Francisco homicide detectives were walking down the corridor in the historic courthouse building, where the Eureka Police Department was currently housed, when Chief Ryan stepped out of his office.

"Welcome to my little fiefdom, gentlemen," he smiled broadly, his arms outstretched. As he shook hands all around, he nodded at Mike. "Good to see you out of the hospital, Lieutenant… ah, sorry, Mike," he corrected with a chuckle when Mike quickly raised a forefinger.

"It's good to finally be out. Look, ah, thanks for arranging this. I just didn't want us all slipping out of town without getting to at least say goodbye to everybody involved… and to try to get some of our unanswered questions answered."

"I understand completely, and I'm glad we're getting to do this too. Gents, come on in," he waved them towards the door he had just exited, which bore his name etched into a gold plaque. "It's gonna be a bit tight in here – it's not the world's biggest office – but I think I've managed to scare up enough chairs for everyone."

He opened the door and stepped inside, standing against the wall to allow his guests to enter, Mike again leading the way. Sheriff John Manley was standing in front of one of the chairs behind the large wooden desk.

"Mike!" he almost shouted when the older detective walked into the room, leaning across the desk with his right arm extended. "I am happy to see you up and about again. You sure gave us all a scare the other morning."

Chuckling, Mike took the sheriff's hand and pumped it warmly. "Sorry about that, John, but, ah… I really had no intention of getting that involved…"

"Well, we're really glad you did," Manley grinned, glancing at Steve and nodding. Mike caught the look; he smiled knowingly at Manley and winked.

Manley and Ryan took the chairs behind the desk and the others sat in the five wooden armchairs squeezed between the desk and the door. Haseejian looked around the office, at the plaques, citations and photos adorning the walls, and chuckled. "Cozy."

Ryan laughed. "Well, there's usually only me and maybe one or two others in here, not a platoon."

Mike cocked his head and his eyes narrowed. "Were you a Marine?"

Ryan's head went back slightly, startled, then he grinned. "I wish. My Dad was a full bird colonel in the Corps in Guam during the war."

"I was at Iwo. Did he make it home?"

The police chief smiled warmly. "Yes, he did. He and my mom are living just outside of town here. He's still going strong."

"That's great to hear. Tell him hi for me, will ya?"

"Will do." Still grinning, Ryan turned to the others and clapped his hands. "So, gentlemen, a lot has happened since our little raid on the Crocker ranch, and almost all of it good. Where do you want me to start?"


	29. Chapter 29

"So," Ryan began as he sat behind his desk, "you guys know the nuts and bolts about the results of our little pre-dawn raid, but I think John and I can fill in a few details if you have any questions." He looked at the others expectantly with raised eyebrows and they all nodded back.

"Okay, so big picture – we arrested a total of fourteen people at the scene… and there was, of course, that one fatality." He glanced purposefully at Devitt, who closed his eyes and dropped his head. "You'll be pleased to know that it's been judged a justifiable shooting and, ah, Roy, we have your gun ready for you when you leave."

Devitt nodded his thanks; Mike had turned to his colleague with a concerned frown. He'd remembered the biker, but had forgotten that Devitt would have undergone a firearms discharge review.

"Turns out the deceased… one, ah, Lester John Porcelli," Ryan continued, picking up one of the many forms on the desk in front of him, "known as 'Porky' - even though he was a beanpole, of course – was well known to law enforcement in this part of the state."

"He sure was," Manley chimed in. "In just the short time I've been here, I arrested him twice – once for a D&D and once for assault. He spent a month in the clink for the D&D but the assault charges were dropped so he walked."

"Yeah, he was also accused of rape and forcible confinement, but we couldn't get enough evidence, so that case was still open. I guess we can close it now," Ryan said with no small amount of satisfaction as he dropped the sheet of paper to the desk.

For the next while, Ryan and Manley filled the others in on the identities of the fourteen arrested at the Crocker Ranch, the arrest and arraignment of Sheriff Lassiter and his deputies, and subsequent investigation into the extended Crocker family. So far, another nine members of the drug and human trafficking cabal had been arrested and charged, with more on the horizon.

Nodding agreeably, pleased with the progress made in such a short time, Mike asked, "Scott, you, ah, you mentioned something about _almost_ all of the news being good. What did you mean by _almost_?"

The Eureka police chief inhaled loudly. "Well, we're pretty sure we got the… the brains, I guess you could call it, of the operation… but John and I think there's a missing link somewhere."

"What do you mean?" Devitt asked.

"Well, from what we've been able to figure out about the way their operation was run, and we don't just mean bringing the H in on the ship and all that… No, we're talking about the entire distribution operation, which, by the way, that drug dog confirmed was run out of the barn, like we all thought. They've been doing this for years and for the most part they've been flying under the radar."

"Yeah," Manley confirmed, "I mean, other than the rumours, which I told you guys about, they've been able to keep things pretty well under wraps, which is shocking considering the depth and breadth of all this. And they've been making millions in the process."

"Yeah, millions that they have been very… shall we say, circumspect with," Ryan picked back up. "I mean, you couldn't tell from looking at it that the people that own that ranch we raided have enough money to buy and sell all of us, and our respective police departments, with millions to spare. They weren't flashy with it, which is a big reason, I think, for their success. And they seemed to have shared the wealth, so to speak. That keeps a lot of mouths shut.

"But something in the back of my mind has been telling me there's something we're missing. Someone somewhere who… greased the wheels for them and allowed all this to go on under everyone's noses for so long." Ryan shook his head and shrugged. "But, so far, we haven't been able to find a connection anywhere… other than Lassiter…"

Ryan sat back, glanced at Manley and smiled dryly. "So, anyway, John and I are about ready to say goodbye to our end of all this. The Feds have taken over completely now, and they're in the process of getting Interpol involved. As far as we've heard, they haven't been able to get anything out of the ship's crew yet – they're mostly foreign nationals, of course – Thai, Chinese and Filipino – and none of them claim to speak English." He shrugged with a dry laugh.

"What are the odds, do you think, that Stuart Sullivan and Danny Cutler are still alive?" Healey asked somberly.

"Well, we talked to the Feds about that," Ryan began softly and slowly, "and they don't want to go on the record with it right now, of course… it's too soon… but we were told not to keep our fingers crossed. Seems they've seen something like this before and the, ah… the results weren't, ah…"

A pall settled over the room and for a few long seconds the police officers sat quietly, each lost in their own thoughts. It was Mike who broke the silence. "Well," he offered gently, "at least Craig Steen got a second chance at life." He stared at Steve. "And we stopped them from –" His throat constricted and he couldn't get the words out.

With a small warm smile, Steve briefly touched his partners arm and squeezed. The others glanced away discreetly.

"Um," Haseejian cleared his throat, looking at Ryan, "we, ah, we heard from Mongo that this has been going on for a long time? Did you find out anything about that?"

Manley leaned forward, glancing at Ryan before he spoke. "Well, everybody's been pretty closed-mouthed up to now… family loyalty and all that. But the Feds are going to start offering deals to the first ones who start talking, so hopefully all that'll come out in the end."

"Oh, ah, yeah, speaking of Mongo," Ryan broke in with a chuckle, "just a little wrinkle in all this I think you'll find… interesting – oh, and by the way, he's still in the hospital, of course, but he's agreed to talk like a parrot – they're giving him immunity. Anyway, I don't know if you're aware, but he shares the last name, Porter, with Craig Steen's fiancee? Turns out they're like fifth cousins or some damn thing – I can never figure that stuff out – and they don't even know each other, never met – and it's just a coincidence – a real coincidence," he reiterated to the skeptical detectives and they chuckled, "that they're related. There's almost as many Porters in this neck of the woods as there are Crockers."

Ryan leaned back in his chair. "That's about it, gentlemen. Any questions –?"

There was a sudden loud knock on the office door and Ryan looked at it. "Yeah?" he yelled and the door opened slightly.

"Oh, sorry," a deep male voice was heard, "didn't know you had company."

"It's okay, Dick," Ryan replied, "what do you need?"

The door opened a little wider; Healey and Haseejian looked up at the newcomer who was still hidden to the other three San Francisco detectives.

"Ah…?" the voice said uncertainly and Ryan glanced at the others.

"Sorry, fellas, this'll only take a second. The joys of being the chief," he chuckled as he got up and circled the desk to the door, stepping into the hall and closing it behind him.

Mike felt a hand on his arm and a hard squeeze. "Mike…" Steve's voice was faint but frantic in his ear. He turned his head to look into his partner's wide eyes. "That's one of them," the young man whispered feverishly, "that's one of the voices."

Mike's hooded eyes snapped to Healey and Haseejian; they'd heard Steve too and had straightened in their chairs. Both Devitt and Manley leaned forward, every fibre on alert.

His blue eyes narrowing, Mike asked quietly, "Are you sure?"

Biting his bottom lip, Steve nodded, breathing heavily through his nose.

Mike looked at the two sergeants and put up a hand in a calming gesture. They both sat back, feigning relaxation, as the door opened again and Ryan returned to the room.

"Sorry about that," he apologized as he crossed back to his chair, "it seems I now have a meeting with the mayor this afternoon."

Mike leaned forward and gestured with his head towards the door. "Who was that?"

Ryan's brow furrowed and his head inclined, confused by the question. "Ah, that was one of my Robbery lieutenants. Dick Robertson. Why?"

Ignoring the question, Mike asked, "How long has he been with the department?"

The police chief sat back slightly, glancing quickly at the others before staring at Mike again. He shrugged. "I don't know… twelve, fifteen years, I'm not exactly sure. Why?"

"How well do you know him?"

Ryan was getting visibly concerned. "Since he started here," he almost snapped. "What the hell is going on? Why are you asking me this?"

Mike glanced quickly at Steve then met Ryan's eyes again evenly. "Steve recognized his voice."

The chief looked slowly from one partner to the other. Steve stared back silently. "Recognized from where?"

No one moved. After a few tense seconds, Ryan blinked slowly. "Oh my god," he breathed, his eyes sliding slowly towards the inspector. "Are you sure…?"

Steve closed his eyes briefly and nodded. "He was one of the two that dragged me down into the… cellar and tied me to the wall. I heard them talking to each other. I don't think they knew I was conscious."

From the corner of his eye he could see Mike watching him, a small proud smile on his lips.

Devitt leaned towards the desk. He stared at Ryan determinedly. "So what do we do?"

Ryan, eyes wide and stunned, shook his head and exhaled loudly. "Um, well, ah, we have to detain him…"

"Does he have a short fuse?" Haseejian inquired gently and Ryan's head snapped up, the anger in his eyes quickly disappearing when he realized what the sergeant was asking.

"No… no, he doesn't… at least I don't think so. But he does have his weapon on him, I just saw it." He put his head in his hands. "Oh god…" Manley, sitting beside him, put a comforting hand on his back.

Devitt, who had been staring silently at the floor, looked up. "Scott, we need you to make sure he stays in the building. We want to do this without fanfare, of course. Can you make sure he remains here?"

Nodding slowly, Ryan reached for the phone, picking up the receiver and dialing three numbers. "Mary?.. Yeah, can you tell me if Dick Robertson's still in the building?... Yeah, okay thanks." He hung up, nodding. "Yeah, he's up in Robbery. Listen, fellas, there's a… there's a lot of ways to get out of this building. And if he gets wind of us coming up there to talk to him, he's gonna bolt. He's not stupid; he'll know what it means."

"So what do you suggest?" Healey asked.

Ryan gave it some thought. "He, ah… his car's parked in the back lot with everyone else's. He drives a dark blue Monte Carlo." He looked at Devitt. "Roy, you don't know what he looks like, so I think you should come with me up to Robbery. John, can you take the front door?"

Manley nodded.

"Dan, if he's gonna bolt, he'll either go out the west door, which is closer to Robbery's end of the building, or he'll try to get to the back door to the parking lot. Can you cover the west door on your own?"

Healey nodded, his right hand going instinctively to the holster on his hip.

"Norm, that leaves the back door to you. Is that good for you?"

"And me," Steve interrupted, and every eye in the place snapped in his direction.

Mike was the first to respond. "You don't know what he looks like and you haven't got a gun –"

"I'll go with Norm," Steve shot back almost angrily then his features softened. "I have to be in on this, Mike… I have to be."

After a long tense second, Mike nodded. "All right."

"Okay, let's do this," Ryan announced as he got to his feet. "But remember, gentlemen, we're only detaining him to talk to him, right?" He looked at the young inspector. "I'm not saying you're wrong, Steve, it's just…"

Steve nodded with an understanding smile. "I know, I know…"

Ryan continued towards the door as the others got up. As Mike began to stand, Devitt spun towards him. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going with -"

"You're not going anywhere."

Mike's face turned dark. "Roy, I'm –"

"You're not a hundred percent, you don't have a gun and at this moment, because you're on sick leave, I'm your superior officer. And I'm not about to bring you back to Dr. Cavanagh for the third time and have to explain to him what you did again."

Everyone watched the brief, albeit one-sided stand-off. Steve reached out and touched his partners arm. "Stay here. We'll get him."

With a heavy sigh, Mike sat back down. "Come back in one piece… all of you."


	30. Chapter 30

Devitt, last out of the office, closed the door and joined the huddle. Ryan glanced around the group, briefly making eye contact. "Norm, Steve, you guys have the furthest to go so we'll give you a couple of minutes. You might get lost in this building so I suggest you go down to the front door with John and just then go out and around to the back. Dan, you head down that way," he nodded to his left. "The stairwell is the last door on the right. Robbery's on the third so you might want to position yourself on the third floor landing… We'll give you guys a bit of a head start."

With confirming nods, the three San Francisco detectives and the Colville sheriff turned silently and walked away. Ryan looked at Devitt. "Let's give them a minute, then we'll head up to Robbery."

Devitt nodded, frowning. "What do you think Robertson'll do when he's confronted? Does he strike you as a bolter?"

Looking sad and disappointed, Ryan looked down and shook his head. "I really have no idea. He's never been involved in a shooting situation as far as I can remember… hell, I don't even think he's drawn his gun more than a half dozen times in his entire career. But you can never tell when a desperate man gets cornered, can you?"

"No, you sure can't…"

Exhaling loudly, the chief looked at the lieutenant. "Okay, let's get this over with…" He started to lead them down the corridor towards the elevator. "I know it's only two floors, but I always take the elevator. If someone sees me taking the stairs, they'll know something's up and I don't want anybody getting antsy over something so… trivial."

Devitt smiled gently with a low dry chuckle. "I know exactly what you mean."

They waited in silence for the single elevator car to arrive. They were joined by two uniformed officers and a civilian woman, all of whom Ryan acknowledged with broad smiles and small talk as the car arrived and they stepped in.

# # # # #

Steve and Haseejian were walking across the grassy lawn towards the end of the building. The sergeant glanced over with a slight smirk. "So, do you think Mike's gonna do as he was told and stay in Ryan's office?"

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Steve chuckled. "Under other circumstances I would say no, but I don't know… I really don't. I guess we'll have to wait and see."

They turned the second corner of the stately old building; the large parking lot was spread out before them, about three-quarters filled with cars, only two of which were black-and-white EPD cruisers.

"Listen, ah," Steve said quietly, his eyes raking the lot, "why don't you stay at the door? You know what he looks like. And I'll wait at his car."

Haseejian opened his mouth to protest but something about the young man's demeanor made him hesitate. There was a noticeable difference in him the past few days, a deepening maturity that was suddenly hard to miss to those who knew him well. "Sure, why not?" He started to move away then stopped suddenly. "Hey, you got a cigarette on you?"

Steve's brow furrowed. "What?"

"Come on, kid, I know you smoke when Mike's not around." He chuckled. "He knows you do. You know that, right?"

With an irritated sigh, Steve reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pack of Marlboros.

"Oh ho, hardcore," Haseejian chortled, looking from the pack to the green eyes with a twinkle in his own. "I don't need the whole pack, just one."

Still frowning, Steve popped a cigarette out of the pack and handed it over.

"Thanks," the Armenian sergeant said with a grin. "Oh, ah, I'll need your lighter too."

With another withering sigh, Steve fished out the plastic lighter and handed it over.

"Thanks, kid." With a self-satisfied smirk, Haseejian walked towards the stone four-step staircase that led from the single back door to the parking lot.

Through a narrowed-eyed stare, Steve watched the retreating back then scanned the lot, looking for Robertson's dark blue Monte Carlo. He hoped there wasn't more than one.

# # # # #

Ryan and Devitt stepped off the elevator with the woman and one of the uniformed officers and turned to the right. It was only several yards to the wooden door with 'Robbery-Homicide' stenciled on the opaque glass pane. Ryan opened the door and led them into the large, bustling room.

The clatter of typewriter keys and the babble of voices was loud but livable as they paused just inside the door. Both sets of eyes scanned the room, although Devitt had no idea what Robertson looked like. The room was wood-paneled, and there was a good-sized windowed office at the back; the bullpen, as was the norm, was populated with a bunch of metal desks, some back to back, others tucked into corners. The walls were lined with file cabinets.

Ryan's eyes immediately went to an unoccupied desk near the inner office. He frowned, turning quickly to a young plainclothes detective just hanging up his phone at a desk nearby. "Ian, do you know where Dick is?"

The rookie detective looked quickly from Chief Ryan to the empty desk and back again and shrugged. "I dunno, Chief, he was here a second ago. I saw him."

A large florid-faced older man had gotten up from the desk in the inner office and was now crossing towards them. "Scott, what the hell are you doing up here?" he chuckled amiably. "What do you need?"

Breaking into a grin, Ryan shook his head. "Nothing, Ernie, just looking for Dick. Do you know where he went?"

The captain, who had glanced at Devitt with interest, looked behind himself at Robertson's desk and shook his head. "He was here a minute ago –"

"That's okay," Ryan interrupted, trying to sound casual. "Nothing important. Thanks." He turned on his heel and took the few steps back to the door, Devitt right behind him, leaving the robbery-homicide captain frowning and shaking his head.

"Do you think he knows? Robertson, I mean," Devitt asked quietly when they were back in the corridor, the door closing behind them.

Ryan glanced at him with a worried frown. "I don't know… but he's not an idiot. And he could be getting desperate."

# # # # #

Haseejian was leaning casually against the metal stair railing. He had unsnapped his holster but left the .38 inside. His eyes scanned the parking lot once more. He couldn't see Steve, but he knew the younger man was in position.

Through the glass and metal door he heard footsteps coming down the inside stairwell; they didn't sound like they were in a hurry.

The San Francisco sergeant put the cigarette in his mouth and thumbed the lighter. Just as the cigarette lit, the door opened and Eureka Detective Dick Robertson, a leather briefcase in one hand, stepped out onto the landing. Startled, the local cop took a half step backward, for a split second his face betraying his surprise. Then, almost instantly, he smiled. "Oh, sorry…"

"Not a problem," Haseejian smiled, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and holding it up. He knew Robertson would recognize him from Ryan's office. "Just came out here for a smoke. I didn't think your Chief would like me smoking in his office. I didn't see any ashtrays in there."

Robertson chuckled. "No, you're right. He hates it."

Haseejian could see that Robertson was trying to find a polite way to break free. The Eureka cop grinned broadly. "Well, ah, enjoy your smoke," he chuckled as he headed down the steps and started across the parking lot.

Haseejian watched him go, letting him get to the first row of cars before he pushed himself away from the railing, dropping the cigarette to the landing and stepping on it.

Moving quickly but trying not to run, Robertson attempted to glance back over his shoulder surreptitiously. He thought he saw the man on the landing coming down the stairs but he couldn't be sure.

He wove his way through the rows of parked cars; his was in the last row and he cursed himself for parking so far away today. He stuffed his free right hand into his jacket pocket for the keys; they weren't there. Cursing, he shifted the briefcase awkwardly from his left hand to his right, finding the keys in his other pocket, then switched hands again.

He could see the Monte Carlo. His heart was pounding so fast he thought he was going to pass out. Almost running the last few feet to the driver's side door, he fumbled for the car key on the ring, his hands shaking as he tried to slide the key into the slot.

He was just about to turn the key when he felt a presence to his left. His head spun quickly; he was nose to nose with a handsome young man with striking green eyes and an ironic smile.

"Remember me?" Steve said softly.

For a split second there was no reaction, then Robertson's face lost all colour. His fingers left the keys as if they were on fire and he turned, his right hand snapping his jacket front back and going for his service revolver.

In less than an instant, he felt the cold smooth barrel of a .38 behind his left ear, and he froze.

Steve's smile grew slightly wider under deadly serious eyes. "I wouldn't move if I were you. You see, Sergeant Haseejian here has a hair-trigger finger… and a hair-trigger temper. And I don't really think you want to piss him off. Do you?"

Nobody moved for several long seconds, then very slowly Robertson's right hand, which had been disturbingly close to the grip of his revolver, dropped down to his side.

"Smart move," Steve hissed quietly, not even trying to mask the disgust in his voice. He reached forward, unsnapped Robertson's holster and pulled the .38 out. Only then did Haseejian lower his own gun.

With Steve staring at Robertson's downturned head, Haseejian holstered his revolver and snapped the cuffs from the back of his belt. With a smile at his young colleague, he reached around and grabbed Robertson's left wrist, pulling his arm behind his back. The briefcase dropped to the gravel.

The cuffs on, Haseejian roughly turned the Eureka detective and started to march him back towards the building. With a satisfied smile and sigh of relief, Steve picked up the briefcase and began to follow. He was halfway to the stone staircase when, for no apparent reason, he decided to look up. Startled, he stopped.

There, in a window on the third floor, Mike Stone was staring down expressionlessly. Their eyes met, locked and held for a few long seconds. Then, very slowly, the older man smiled and raised his right hand, first in a fist then, visibly laughing, he flattened out his hand and brought it to his right eyebrow in a crisp salute.

Feeling the blood rushing to his face, Steve dropped his head and chuckled quietly to himself. He looked back up at the window, grinning and shaking his head, then kept walking, following Haseejian and their new detainee up the steps and into the building.


	31. Chapter 31

**Thanks to everyone who came on this journey with me - I hope you enjoyed the ride!**

Ryan, Manley, Devitt and Healey were standing in front of the elevator on the main floor when Steve and Haseejian marched the handcuffed but unresisting Robertson through the double glass side doors into the lobby. No one was smiling.

Haseejian pulled the Eureka lieutenant to a halt in front of his chief. Robertson's head was down; Ryan stared at the downturned face for several long silent seconds before he looked at the SFPD sergeant. He cleared his throat, as if he wasn't confident he could find his voice. "I'll, ah, I'll take it from here, Norm." He put a hand on Robertson's elbow and turned him towards the closed elevator doors, glancing gratefully at the others as he pushed the button. "Why don't you fellas go back to my office and I'll join you when I can."

"Ah, sir," Steve said quietly. When Ryan looked at him, he held up the briefcase, his eyes snapping quickly to Robertson and back.

Ryan nodded. "John, take of that, will ya? Go through it, all of you."

"Sure, Scott. Of course."

The elevator doors opened and Ryan pulled Robertson inside. The others watched as the doors closed then glanced at each other. "Let's take the stairs," Manley suggested and the others nodded.

The trek up to Ryan's office on the second floor was made in silence, Manley leading the way. He opened the office door, stepping back to allow the four detectives to enter ahead of him.

"So… what happened?" Mike's voice assailed them before the first man had crossed the threshold. Haseejian's head snapped in the lieutenant's direction but he kept his mouth closed. Steve, third in line, looked around the door as he passed it; Mike was sitting, cross-legged and arms folded, in the chair he'd been occupying when they'd left.

Devitt, bringing up the rear, allowed himself a low, mirthless chuckle. "Wow, I never thought you'd take my threat seriously… Thanks…"

They all moved back to their respective chairs and sat; Steve put the briefcase on the desk. Mike continued to look from one to the other, patiently waiting for someone to tell him what had transpired. Or so it appeared.

His eye widening in bemusement, Steve tilted his head and stared at his partner as if daring him to come clean. Mike stared back, and he was better at it.

Healey looked from one partner to the other, frowning. He had a strange feeling that something was going on between them but he was damned if he knew what it was. Haseejian glanced at Devitt and raised his eyebrows; the lieutenant shrugged slightly.

With a benignly inquisitive facade, Mike turned to Haseejian and Healey. "Well, will somebody tell me what happened?" he asked with a lot more patience than they would have expected from him. Now they were all suspicious.

"Ah," Haseejian broke the silence, "well, he, ah, he went out the back door for his car and Steve and I intercepted him. He gave up without a fight."

Mike's head went back slightly, as if in surprise, and he smiled. "That easy, hunh?" He turned to glance at Steve and Devitt, who were on his other side. "Well, good for you. Well done."

"It, ah, it was Norm and Steve that cuffed him," Devitt added, still looking at Mike with knit brows, confused.

Mike's eyebrows shot into his hairline and his head swiveled back and forth between his partner and the Armenian sergeant, grinning. "Terrific work you two. That's… that's great."

Steve, who had continued to stare at his partner with barely contained amusement, bit his bottom lip, bobbing his head and raising his eyebrows. "Thanks," he said dryly, then cleared his throat demonstrably and turned to Sheriff Manley sitting behind the desk. "So what happens now, John?"

Manley, who had been watching the interplay between the SFPD officers with a touch of bewilderment, turned his attention to the young inspector. "Oh, ah, well, I guess after Scott finishes his… interview, he'll call the Feds and Robertson'll be turned over to them." He stared pointedly at the briefcase.

Mike, his smile now gone, uncrossed his arms and sat forward slightly. "Is that Robertson's?"

They all nodded. Manley, with a glance back up at them all, turned the briefcase around and popped it open. Healey and Haseejian got up and crossed around to the far side of the desk beside Manley.

The Colville sheriff took a thick stack of thin files out of the briefcase and laid them on the desktop. "What the hell is all this?" he said under his breath as he closed the now empty briefcase and put it on the floor at his feet. He took several files off the top of the stack and handed them across the desk to Steve, who passed a couple to both Mike and Devitt, keeping a few for himself. Healey and Haseejian helped themselves, returning to their chairs. Manley picked one up and sat back in his chair, flipping it open.

It was less than two minutes before Healey said, "I've got it." He glanced up at the others, who had turned to him, and hefted the file in his hand slightly. "John Martin Hall, arrested three years ago for B&E and aggravated assault. The charges were dropped for lack of evidence." He looked up at his partner and raised his eyebrows. "Does that name ring a bell?"

Haseejian sat back, frowning, letting the file in his hand drop to his lap. After a few seconds, his eyes widened and he sat forward again. "Hall… yeah, right… he's the brother of a woman who's married to a Crocker, right?"

Healey nodded. "That's right. One of the Crocker second cousins or something like that, if I remember correctly." He looked at Devitt and Mike. "Norm and I got a good lesson in the Crocker family lineage. I'll have to check my notes, but I have a feeling we can recognize a lot of the surnames on that tree." He nodded towards the files with his chin. "What are some of the other names?"

For the next fifteen minutes, they went through all the names in the stack of files; there were thirty-two in all. Healey and Haseejian could tentatively confirm that they recognized twenty-three of the names as being branches of the extended Crocker family tree.

When they were done, Devitt sat back with a frustrated and angry sigh. "So that's what Robertson was doing… helping to toss out cases against the extended Crocker family, to keep the drug dealers out of the clink so they could keep the family in business."

"Yeah," Healey added, "it seems like every time one of them… strayed from the straight and narrow and did something stupid they got caught for, like drunk driving or assault, Robertson managed to get the charges dismissed or was somehow instrumental in making the evidence mysteriously disappear."

Manley shook his head. "Well, he was good at it, from the looks of these." He gestured at the files now back on the desk. "I guess we'll have to see what Scott gets out of him, but this is good ammunition to get Robertson to open up, especially if he's offered immunity."

"Immunity's too good for him," Haseejian growled, and the others nodded. The idea of a crooked cop was abhorrent to them all.

# # # # #

It was a little less than an hour before Ryan returned to his office, his mood dark and frustrated. Robertson had invoked his right to counsel and they were awaiting the arrival of his lawyer, which could take several hours, and the Feds.

Manley showed him the files they had discovered in Robertson's briefcase and Ryan's mood darkened even more.

Exhaling loudly in irritation, the police chief addressed them all. "Look, fellas, this is going to go on for a long time… and I don't just mean today, of course… and it's really just our responsibility now… well, ours and the Feds. There's no point in you guys hanging around, and I know you've checked out of your motels and all that…" He sighed in resignation then glanced at Manley. "John and I appreciate everything you've done, all of you. I know this started out as a missing persons case but obviously it's exploded into something much more… and while it's a blight on the entire area up here, we've – hopefully – put an end to it."

The police chief got to his feet and the others followed. "I can't begin to thank you enough for all that you've done… and all that you've had to endure," he looked pointedly at Mike and Steve and smiled gratefully, "but I think it's time for you guys to go back to your own lives and your own… problems, and let us sort out ours up here."

He started to shake hands all around. Devitt snorted dryly, "I have a feeling this isn't over yet, not by a long shot… do you?"

Ryan looked at him and smiled grimly. "No, you're right, I don't really think so either, but we can hope, can't we?" He took them all in with a warm smile. "But I have a feeling we're going to see you all up here again when this goes to trial… if it ever goes to trial…"

There was a soft knock on the door and it opened slightly. "Excuse me, Chief, but the Feds are here."

Ryan nodded at the unseen officer. "Thanks, Allan, I'll be right there." The door closed. With a grim but thankful smile, Ryan looked at the SFPD officers again. "It's been a hell of a ride, gentlemen, and for us it's a long way from being over." He glanced at Manley, who nodded back. "You guys have a safe trip home, and John and I promise we'll keep you in the loop."

"You bet," Manley confirmed, "especially about those boys that are still missing. If we find out anything about them, I'll make sure you're notified."

"Thanks, John," Mike responded warmly, taking the sheriff's hand in both his own. "Please tell the families, from Steve and me, that we did the best we could, all right?"

Manley smiled softly, nodding. "Oh, I think they know that already, Mike, but I'll make sure to tell them again. And believe me, the Steen family isn't going to forget you guys anytime soon, that's for sure."

Nodding with grim acceptance and the ghost of a smile, Mike put his hand on his partner's back and slid it up to grip his shoulder as they turned towards the door.

# # # # #

"Well, at least it's gonna be well past rush hour by the time we get home," Devitt said with a slight chuckle as the five SFPD officers crossed the parking lot towards the two Galaxies in the late afternoon sunshine. They had hoped to head out before lunch but the events of the day had delayed their departure.

Haseejian glanced at his watch. "What say we stop for dinner in a couple a hours? How does that sound?"

"Works for me," Healey agreed and the others nodded.

As they reached the cars, Mike, who had been walking slightly behind them all, his head down and his hands thrust deep into his pants pockets, turned to look back at the old courthouse building. Steve stopped and turned to him. "What?" he asked quietly. The others heard him, slowed and turned as well.

The older man sighed. "It just feels… wrong leaving them with all those loose ends and all that work still to do…"

Steve glanced over his shoulder at Devitt, who had taken a step closer.

"I know, I feel the same way," the gray-haired lieutenant said, "but you know as well as I do that there's nothing more we can do. It's not our jurisdiction, Mike, and it's not our case… it never was. You and Steve were just… consultants, right?"

Reluctantly, Mike nodded, turning slowly back to his colleagues. He snorted. "You're right." He looked at Steve and smiled. "Okay, fellas, let's go home." He took his hands out of his pockets and threw an arm around Steve's shoulders as they continued the few yards to the tan Galaxie.

Healey and Haseejian moved to the moss green one beside it, Healey opening the driver's side door. "We'll take the lead, see if we can spot a good place to have dinner in about an hour or so. How does that sound?"

"Works for me," Devitt replied, getting behind the wheel of the tan sedan. He was just about to close the door when he heard both back doors open. Frowning, he glanced into the rearview mirror. He had expected Mike to sit in the front with him, but the lieutenant was easing himself into the back seat beside his partner.

With a soft, surprised snort, Devitt slammed the door and put the key in the ignition. Without a word, he backed the car from the spot and followed the other unmarked SFPD car out of the lot.

# # # # #

The sky was black; it was a new moon, and the headlights were the only illumination on the two-lane blacktop. They had stopped for dinner about an hour before and had just passed a highway sign announcing that San Francisco was 180 miles ahead.

Devitt was still alone in the front seat. He had been going over everything that had happened since Captain Olsen had sent him north to uncover what had happened to their colleagues. He and Healey and Haseejian had arrived to find Mike in the hospital, Steve unaccounted for and a thousand unanswered questions.

And now, barely a week later, they were on their way back home with not only both their colleagues but a lot of those questions answered. All in all, for all the heartbreak and misery their investigation had uncovered, for them it had turned out well.

But, more than anything else about the difficult and disturbing events they had endured - more than the taking of a life, more than the realization that young men had been sent to their almost inevitable deaths as payment for drug shipments, and that corruption and greed had invaded almost every aspect of life in that part of the state – was the simple truth that it was the unexpected and heartwarming disclosure from the young inspector in the hospital that had affected him the most.

With a warm smile, Devitt looked into the rearview mirror. It was dark and he could barely see his silent colleagues. Gripping the steering wheel tighter, he smiled to himself as he followed the red taillights of the car in front.

The cars rounded a long bend. Suddenly there were two cars coming towards them. As they approached, their headlights shone through the windshield, illuminating the interior of the Galaxie. Devitt glanced into the rearview mirror again, and in the stark headlight glare he saw them.

Steve's head was back against the seat, his eyes closed. Mike was leaning against him, his eyes also closed and his head on the younger man's shoulder. They were both sound asleep.

Grinning, and with a soft chuckle, Devitt returned his stare to the windshield.


End file.
